Jennifer Walters, Avenger-at-Law: WINTER IS COMING
by jerseydanielgibson
Summary: Jenn Walters has turned a group of superheroes into a team. Yet that doesn't stop foes from coming as traitors, assassins, science experiments, an enemy from the past, and an object of infinite power comes to haunt the Avengers and their allies. Lines blur between friend and foe as HYDRA rises in a bid for global supremacy. And it all starts with a man named Edward Snowden. [AU]
1. The New Hire, I

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**LaGuardia International Airport, New York City, New York, May 20, 2012**

_**For Stan**_

_+9 Days after the Battle of New York_

STORY SUMMERY, CHAPTERS 1-20 [6/2/19-7/31/19]: Nat's wanted for assault, and Clint for murder. Tony's got a paternity suit, and Steve 70 years of backpay. Harlem wants to sue the Hulk for damages, and Norway wants to sue Thor for being a false God. NYC wants answers for all the damages done by the Chitauri, and insurances companies are out for blood. The Avengers need a good attorney. Jennifer Walters, at your service. (AU)

* * *

Natasha Alianovna Romanoff stood upon the private tarmac of LaGuardia Airport, leaning against the Porsche Cayenne, the vehicle having been modified for use as a private business vehicle for Stark Industries. It was the typical black-out look for an expensive German-made vehicle, and Natasha knew that the modifications weren't only designer; the windows were bullet-proof, the metal panels rated to take even high-powered rifles, and Run-Flats for tires. It was actually fairly typical for her to ride around in such vehicles as a cover operative for SHIELD, the so-called 'Blackwater' variant named after the private military contractors that used such vehicles extensively in Afghanistan and Iraq. Tony didn't skimp on security, not after the Ten Rings and Obidiah Stane.

"Plane should be landing in a minute."

The spy looked over to one of the two traveling companions, one being very familiar to her, while the other was only known to her until rather recently. Clinton Francis Barton was also leaning against the Cayenne, his muscular arms folded against his equally-muscular chest, wearing a plain t-shirt and jeans for the event, though Natasha knew that he likely had a Springfield XD .45 cal pistol tucked to the back of those jeans. No one would suspect the t-shirt wearing, gun-toting, cowboy-looking man as _the_ Hawkeye, the both of them dealing with the ramifications of being world-famous superheroes. Covert operatives to a clandestine espionage agency now having their faces on every television, computer monitor, and smart phone all over the world certainly made things different for them. But her eyes were on the man who had spoken, Doctor Robert Bruce Banner. He was wearing plain clothes as well, along with a sports blazer that suggested a little towards his title and degrees in biology, chemistry, engineering, medicine, physiology, and nuclear physics. At a first glance, one would assume Doctor Bruce Banner a Professor at some university such as MIT, CalTech, or even Oxford. He had a little of the absent-minded professor personality going on for him, and always seemed a little nervous around crowds. Of course, she knew the truth. They all knew the truth.

"You're looking forward to this." Clint observed, tilting his head slightly so he could peer at the Doctor over the frames of his custom-made Oakleys.

"I haven't seen her since after the accident. She was the first person to help me and believed in me after the incident." The Doctor replied, rubbing the pads of his fingers of each hand together; a nervous habit, Romanoff noted, to contain his emotions. "When I needed anyone, I had her. Plus, she's family." Bruce offered a wane smile. "Nepotism aside, she's good at what she does. I've kept track, my way of being there for her in return when I couldn't do it in person."

They had gotten a lawyer.

Ever since the Battle of New York, the world had taken a nice long vacation from normality and had gone straight towards the Outer Limits, it seemed. Humanity wasn't alone, an alien race had tried to invade the planet while _another_ alien led them while being fought off by _his_ alien half-brother, and there were figures of incredible abilities that had come during Man's darkest day to wrought its finest hour. The cat had been let out of the bag, so to speak, and the collective human conscious was still reeling from the shock.

Of course the _Avengers_ were the focal point of the entire mess. Some good, some not.

While the public in general, Americans typically, and New Yorkers especially, went ga-ga over the fact that superheroes actually existed, much larger organizations were… not so thrilled. Governments, organizations, businesses, syndicates, interest groups, and insurance companies were having a bit of a breakdown at the fact that such titans existed, that there were no real laws or means to deal with them. Politicians were reeling at the fact that some of the entities that they were just learning about had been hidden from their knowledge (rightfully so), news media was trying to dig for anything and everything to feed the angry mobs on the heroes _de jure_ (which was a migraine), and militaries were either trying to find ways to assess them as threats while others were practically groveling at the chance of having them for a few days for clandestine strikes and operations. The whole damn thing was a nightmare.

Oh, and then there were the lawsuits. All two thousand plus of them.

Natasha was wanted for assault on three 'victims', never mind that Russian Lieutenant General Georgi Luchkov and his two associates were organized crime figures that had captured her and were about to torture her for information (while giving her information). Her face was all over the news, they had recognized her, and now there was an extradition order from the Russian Federation for her arrest. Assaulting a three-star Russian General while in a Russian court would go well… for them. Plus there was two personal injury lawsuits against her for the two thugs that had tied her to a chair and roughed her up. Never mind that they were corrupt Russian State Police Officers and had used physical interrogation methods against her; she had kicked their asses and now they were _suing_ the Black Widow. There were easily a dozen suits and charges against her from previous visits on questionable persons, and a couple where people thought they were assaulted or actioned against by the Black Widow, true or not. Then there were the glory-hounds and publicity-seekers.

It didn't end there.

Clint was wanted for murder in Stuttgart, Germany for his part in the abduction, torture, and murder of a German physicist, who had no affiliations that the action could be bent towards looking like anything else other than an expert archer removing the eye of a man after killing him with a well-placed arrow to the heart. Clint was taking the whole affair badly, wanting to know how many people he had killed while under Loki's influence. It had been Natasha that had told him, the look of guilt on his face and no doubt eating his soul prompting her to tell him the truth. He wasn't being charged for the deaths of thirty-seven SHIELD Agents… at least not physically or legally. But on the inside…? The Battle was over, and the immediate clean-up had been done, Clint, Steve, Tony, and Thor throwing themselves into the efforts to move debris and pull out survivors in those hours and days after the battle. That had been but a temporary balm for a man who had been so horrifically used. There were other calls for extradition for 'death-by-arrows' in other parts of the world now that the knowledge of an expert covert archer was known. Some of them were actually him from previous missions with SHIELD, but it was making for an ugly mess.

It shouldn't have been any surprise that Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark would have the most amount of lawsuits and claims against him, ranging from damages, to sexual misconduct, and even paternity suits. Romanoff was actually surprised that the bottomfeeders hadn't already come out of the woodworks with Tony when he announced himself as the Iron Man, having about four months of legal battles dealing with just that after Obadiah Stane's attack on Stark Industries and Tony publicly identifying himself, as well as after the incident at the Stark Expo involving one Ivan Vanko and two dozen military-grade assault drones. Being incredibly wealthy and very visible wasn't always what it was cracked out to be, the former personal (if clandestine) assistant to both Tony Stark and Virginia 'Pepper' Potts knew, getting a rather intimate view of those lives when she played Natalie Rushman to figure out the rash behaviors of Stark before they discovered he was dying of Pollodium poisoning. That hadn't been the worst assignment she had ever received, and the pictures of Tony Stark and Colonel James Rhodes duking it out in _two_ Iron Man suits had been rather priceless.

But there was more.

Someone actually had the audacity to try and _sue_ Thor as a false God. That had been a bit of a jawdropper for all of them when a summons agent from _Norway_ had come to Stark Tower with legal paperwork for _person(s) claiming themselves Thor, Son of Odin_ with a lawsuit asking the Asgardian to denounce his claim of paternity and _Godhood_. Thor hadn't taken that one particularly well, and Natasha got it a little bit; it seemed that Asgardians took such things as heredity in a much more serious fashion than 'Midgardians', not to mention that Thor was… well, an alien prince. Some puny mortal was asking a God to deny his throne and heritage just because they didn't want to believe that Thor indeed had fallen from the sky (she knew this thanks to reports from Darcy Lewis and Doctor Jane Foster, who had ran into the fallen God literally in New Mexico with a van) and wasn't what Wodinists (not 'Norse' believers) wanted to see in their beloved God of Thunder and… interestingly enough, the deity the day Thursday was named after. Romanoff had no idea how that had happened who knows how long ago, but evidently Thor got his own day of the week. The Asgardian wanted to move the start of the weekend to Thursday (as a joke) so people could drink in his honor (like people did on Fridays) once that fact had been told to him (along with the concept of weekends), and Tony had ran with it as a joke, renaming every day of the week after one of the Avengers, taking Friday for himself (now Starkday). The one day that had been left alone was Wednesday; it was named after Odin, and no one wanted to piss off his blonde-haired, _Mjoliner_-wielding princely son by disrespecting the All-Father.

Oh, there was the property damage suit filed against the Hulk. For practically the entirety of Harlem.

The Incredible Hulk had a _humongous_ legal battle against him from the thirteen separate incidences in which Doctor Bruce Banner had unfortunately transformed into his monstrous alter ego. The sad part was that he was personally responsible for exactly _one_ of them; when Doctor Banner decided to leap off of a CH-47 Chinook Helicopter after his capture by Major General Thaddeus 'Thunderbolt' Ross to engage the creature known as the Abomination. It was the one and only time that Bruce embraced 'the other guy', to stop a creature much like himself from wrecking havoc upon upper New York City. The other twelve incidences occurred because Ross had been dead-intent to capture Banner for 'national security' as well to bury his involvement with the accident that created the Hulk; a recreation of _Project: Rebirth_ that had gone terribly wrong when General Ross took matters into his own hands after Bruce refused to use human test subjects. Bruce had heroically held off the endeavor by volunteering himself, knowing that without himself the endeavor wouldn't succeed due to his great intelligence, but everything had gone wrong. Every change was because Ross had been using Special Forces and mercenaries to capture Banner, never figuring out that every time that he did so, the Hulk would emerge to protect his human alter ego, inciting the very thing he was supposedly trying to protect America from. No less than two hundred different claims were filed against the Hulk and his rampages.

Oh, the Avengers were getting sued, too. Couldn't sue an alien race for the destruction of Midtown, but the Avengers were free game.

Thus, the lawyer.

Tony had wanted to get what amounted to the most expensive lawyer in America with the best track record, but the attorney in question was a torts-oriented lawyer use to taking on hospitals and insurance companies, making malpractice suits and class-action lawsuits. Not to mention the fact that he was a bit of a glory hog that actually spent more time in front of a camera than working, shuffling off most of the work onto his younger, less-experienced legal team. Director Nicholas Samuel Fury had pulled up a dossier of multi-specialization lawyers, ones who tapped into multiple branches of laws to _lead_ an effort to legally protect the Avengers, and pulled out about a dozen or so names of lawyers who had experiences in _metahuman_ cases as well. They needed someone who knew business law, personal injury, torts, malpractice, civil, and legal. Such a lawyer would likely be in their sixties or seventies and probably not physically practicing law anymore except to run a team of lawyers. That wasn't exactly what they wanted either, some mouthpiece in love with their own voice and seen more often in front of a camera instead of a courtroom. They needed someone who could warm up a jury, warm up the press, and make titan-like companies sweat while looking out for the little guy, too. It was a hell of a tall order.

Surprisingly, one of the names jumped out when Bruce read the list and pointed out someone who just so happened to be his cousin and a practicing attorney.

Natasha already knew everything that there was to know about the potential hire, one Jennifer Susan Walters. The daughter of a Californian Sheriff and a nurse, Jennifer went to UCLA Law and graduated third in her year, receiving a very high score in her Bar Exam. She had been practicing law in San Bernadino County in California, doing personal injury claims as well as business suites, copyright law, a couple of malpractice suites, several civil spats, and even legal defense. She was one of the few 'broad spectrum' lawyers that Director Fury was able to comb out of the tens of thousands of lawyers in North America, and had several items in her jacket that were rather recommending. She was single, ran her own firm, did her own cases, didn't have a slue of people claiming sexual harassment or discrimination, and didn't have a bombshell of sins trolling all over social media. Plus, when Bruce had survived the accident that turned him into the Hulk, it was Jennifer Walters that had come to her cousins' aid, taking him in and helping him escape the silent dragnet that Ross and local police were using to capture the scientist. Surprisingly, SHIELD had no idea how the lawyer was able to smuggle Doctor Banner away from Los Angeles, knowing only that he resurfaced some six months later from an unfortunate incident involving human traffickers and a humanitarian effort down in Belize.

Tony was having her flown in from California to New York for a personal interview. On a Stark Industries Bombardier Challenger 300 if that wasn't hint enough.

Nat saw a small private craft coming in on approach, and she could sense that Bruce was happy; as happy as she had ever seen the normally-morose man. In his darkest days, he had this woman at his side despite how many times he had turned into the Hulk right after the accident (four times, actually). Jennifer hadn't left his side, and somehow kept a large green rage monster from being discovered and located by every police officer and soldier in Southern California. Well, she was the daughter of a Sheriff, so likely she knew some things. But someone who could say she had an Avenger as a family member but didn't blast it out left and right? That was someone who knew how to keep a lid on things while also being able to help out.

Thus the plane. Thus the interview.

"When's the last time you've seen her?" Barton asked, curious as he righted himself off the Porsche.

"After she got me out of California. So eight years." Neither Natasha nor Clint needed to be told that Bruce had purposefully avoided his cousin to protect her, returning the favor. "Every once in a while, I'd go to her firms' website or news articles to see how she's doing. Couldn't be near her, couldn't call her, but those moments did always make me smile." It was hard to picture Doctor Banner as being sentimental, but ever since he saw Jennifer's name on the list and practically _begged_ to be the one to call her with a potential interview for the job they were about to offer her, he had been all smiles, lighter even. It was like Christmas for the man whom no one wanted to make angry or stressed. After all that had happened in New York, a little family reunion was… well, what the Doctor ordered.

The plane was landing on the tarmac and taxi'ing to the private hangers, where there was indeed one marked with Stark Industries' logo on the side in case anyone had any doubts. Even having spent a month as Tony and Pepper's personal assistant Natasha still got goosebumps at the thought of the wealth and capabilities of those two, able to put a government on their knees if they wanted; a First-World Government, at that. Tony was in the top-ten richest people on the planet bracket, and more visible than the Queen of England herself. He personally owned that plane that was heading towards them, the two pilots that she could see through the cockpit windows his employees. This wasn't a chartered flight, a timeshare plane shared over several businesses for the expense, or even really belonging to Stark Industries. It was Tony Stark's personal twenty-five million dollar jet, what he used to go to meetings, raise charity, impress people for business deals, or go to some exotic location for vacations. As a covert SHIELD Agent, Romanoff got coach tickets or smuggled herself onto one of the various military cargo aircraft throughout the world via 'Space A' or inserting herself into a small container with supplies. She watched as the plane stopped in front of the hanger, a motorized staircase taxi'ing to the plane's main cabin door as it was opened by a flight attendant (blonde female bombshell in a uniform, no surprises there) and out came a brunette woman in a smart business suit, an attache case, and a clutch purse over one shoulder.

"It's her." Bruce said in a voice barely louder than the Challenger's engines, but there was no mistaking the tone in his voice, the awe and wonder in it. This was a woman who had saved him from capture or a reign of destruction, who had risked everything for him when he was at his bleakest. She was family but so much more to Doctor Bruce Banner, and it showed. Natasha looked at the woman, hard to tell some details at a distance and at elevation, but she could tell that Jennifer Walters was taller than the flight attendant by several inches, and she knew that Tony didn't like hiring women who were either at his height or taller, Stark only being five-seven. _Tall,_ Romanoff noted as the woman thanked the flight attendant and the captain before disembarking onto the motorized staircase, looking out and around as all people did when landing, getting a sense of her bearings. _Tall, brunette, dresses well, pretty without emphasizing it, business suit suggests femininity without flaunting it_. The woman was a 'real-deal' lawyer, one who buckled down and got in those billable hours and the work done, knuckling through her competition through litigation and oratory skills, not smiling and flirting her way through. A professional, the spy noted. That was good.

"Bruce!" The woman finally spotted the face she was looking for, practically bolting down the staircase and onto the tarmac to meet her cousin after eight long years of no contact. "Bruce! Oh my God!" Both Doctor and lawyer practically jumped into a hug that was actually pretty enduring to watch. Clint had a big old Iowa grin on his face, obviously touched at the sight. Well, he was the father to two adorable children who called Natasha 'Auntie', so she got it. She was a little surprised to see that Jennifer was actually taller than Bruce by a few inches, the _Juris Doctor_ practically cradling his head. "God, I was so worried about you…" She pulled away from the hug to study him for a moment. "I'm glad you called. Started seeing you all over the news and… and I hoped…"

"Hey, it's okay." Natasha watched the scene for a brief moment before she moved over to Clint, bumping him in a friendly fashion so that they could move off and give Bruce and Jennifer their space.

She found herself walking away with a small smile on her face.

* * *

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., sat in the backseat of a blacked-out Porsche Cayenne as it was being driven by a redheaded woman that looked a little _too_ familiar despite her white blouse and black slacks. The redhead was wearing a set of sunglasses with an extra-large frame that one generally saw on girls being fashionable or vogue… or if they wanted a good portion of their features covered while trying to disguise the fact that they were in fact disguising the fact. Her father had a name for those kinds of glasses; Battered Wives' Glasses, the kind that women in abusive relationships wore to disguise black or swollen eyes. Sheriff Morris Walters hadn't been stingy in teaching his only child about the facts of life, giving her advice and self-defense techniques, but otherwise letting her learn about life and herself on her own as well. Being an attorney who had to gauge silent juries just based upon clothes and the way one sat made her an expert at judging a book by its cover, and the first thought she had about the redhead was _fighter_. She looked completely at ease in her clothes, but they didn't suit her. Her shoulders were too square and ready, her eyes moved too much behind her glasses, and the woman had one hell of a poker face, expressive when needed, a mystery when not.

Jenn put two-and-two together; this was the Black Widow.

In the front passenger seat was a man with a serious athletic build and about the boldest eyes she had ever seen in a person. Not bold like those eyes were unfriendly or undressing her mentally. No, it was as if they were forever zeroing on whatever they were looking at with an intensity that was almost unnerving. The t-shirt and jeans combo made him look like an urban cowboy, but he wore boots that looked more combat related. He wasn't a soldier; no tattooes, the hair wasn't the normal style known as a 'high-and-tight', and she was pretty certain he was armed with a rather expensive model pistol. He screamed 'soldier' except for those eyes; those eyes didn't shift. Whatever they looked at? Got the _full_ intensity of his attention. Like a laser.

So this was the Hawkeye.

It made sense. There had always been rumors and sightings of a strange green giant throughout the years that Jenn had always kept an ear out for, made easier with the internet and social media. When there had been an odd tale in Rio de Janiero more than a year ago about a bottling plant being shutdown due to massive internal damages with no explosion or any other explanation, Jenn was pretty damn sure someone had found Bruce. Weeks later, there were YouTube videos of an incident at Culver University that didn't make the media, and Jenn had learned long ago what a cover-up look like. She had seen the poor quality video from a cell phone of something large and green, and she had known Bruce was in danger, that the Army was after him once more, that _Ross_ was after him once more. She had gotten some legal paperwork involved, filing injunctions and subpoenas to hamper his actions and put to light the truth in hopes that some reporter or judge would wake up and smell the illegal activities. But when the attack on Harlem occurred, when a large creature called the Abomination was rampaging its way through upper New York City, she heard the rumors that a large green figure had stopped him and defeated him. Jenn knew that Bruce had fought off that monster for the sake of the people. He hadn't come to her because he didn't want to put her in danger, but she wouldn't have cared; she would have put him up right in her home if he showed up right on her doorstep.

Then there had been the Attack on New York.

May 11th had been a terrible day, the day Mankind learned quite horrifically it wasn't alone in the universe by means of an alien invasion on New York City itself. Yet in its darkest day had come its finest hour; no less than six God-like people had stepped up to appear in front of the wake of destruction to hold the line, to stem the tide, and to force the invaders back to whatever corner of the universe they happened to hail from. In a day of calamity and infamy, five men and one woman stood tall and strong to defend Earth and Man, proving themselves to the entire world their resolve. Jenn, like billions of others, had watched the 'special edition' updates as the attack occurred, seeing alien… _things_ flying out of a hole in the sky while people scattered and fled for their lives. She had seen the Iron Man take to the skies to fight, the legendary Captain America on the streets protecting people, a literal _God_ smashing through the creatures with a mythical hammer, a man with a bow and impeccable aim, a woman who tore through the ranks with her bare hands.

And she saw her cousin in his absolute full terrible glory, like a living wrecking ball, smashing the largest of the creatures with his green meaty fists.

Jenn turned to look at the man who shared the backseat with her, to see Bruce. She could see the guilt and sadness behind those eyes, that terrible burden on his shoulders. To have so much strength, so much capability, and _choose_ not to use it for the noblest of reasons? He could have waged wars against terrorism and governments, to have become some green-skinned monster, an unstoppable creature of rage and retribution. But she knew better, she knew the truth. She had seen it in the eyes of both Bruce and the Hulk, the pain that they _both_ suffered. No one else but her knew why the Incredible Hulk was such a towering inferno of rage and destruction, why when Ross had so _stupidly_ used the Super Soldier Serum and gamma radiation on her cousin, why it had created a monster. Bruce had known through the notes of Doctor Abraham Erkstein that the serum exasperated _everything_ about its subject, not just their physical prowess. It would also exasperate the subjects' most desired trait… as well as its darkest demon. General Ross had wanted to use human test subjects, volunteer soldiers to become the next Captain America. But Bruce hadn't been interested in making a legion of super soldiers; he wanted to re-create the man who was the epitome of the Golden Age Hero, a champion of freedom and justice, to return an icon and ideal for the people to follow. Her cousin had insisted on psychological testing on the subjects and intentionally failed every one of them with a maze of standards that the Son of God likely wouldn't have met, and intentionally so. _Herr Lieutenant General_ Johann Schmidt had been created through a military decision to embolden Nazi forces with _der Ubermeschen_, but had gotten _Rot Schroder_ instead; the Red Skull. Bruce was preventing a tragedy that General Ross was so stupidly trying to create with vision of perfect soldiers; that old, stupid, wasteful dream. Ross wanted killing machines.

He certainly got his wish.

Bruce had been abused as a child, that Jenn knew all too well. Doctor Brian William Banner had been a sick man, an angry drunk who would beat both his wife and his only child in jealous rages. Jenn's mother, Elaine, hadn't know of that whenever Jenn visited her five-year older cousin. For some reason, Uncle Brian had always kept his temper on a leash whenever his niece was around, and Bruce had capitalized on that, the young Jenn not knowing at first what was going on, only knowing that Bruce (who, like all young children did with their older family relations, Jenn saw him as a hero) liked having her over. Bruce was already beginning to show off his vast intellect, and Jenn read as much as he did, spending time with her cousin in the public library or a book store. Then, one night, for a reason Jenn had never been told or explained to, her Uncle had murdered her Aunt in a drunken rage, sending him to prison and Bruce to his Aunt Elaine and Uncle Morris to be raised. Bruce had been a very traumatized eleven-year old child, and Jenn, only six, had done the only thing she knew to do to help her older cousin; by being his friend and hugging him whenever he looked like he needed it. He lived with them until he was fifteen years old, advancing through school at a rapid age and getting a full-ride scholarship to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology at a young age. While Jenn had been sad to see Bruce leave, she was also proud of him too, for becoming such a success story. He earned his first degree in biochemstry at nineteen, and Jenn had attended his graduation. She attended his second graduation, this time nuclear physics, when he was twenty-three and she about to enter college herself to get her law degree from UCLA. They had always been close, sharing the details of their lives together, being there for one another. They might have been cousins by blood, but in reality they were much more like brother and sister.

But when Doctor Bruce Banner had thwarted General Ross's plan into introducing a human test subject with or without his approval by strapping himself to the experiments' chamber so that he wouldn't potentially harm another person, the Super Soldier Serum had awoken the thing living inside of him that had endured his fathers' raging abuse, bringing out the monster that had lived within.

The Hulk had been born.

"Hey." Jenn looked to Bruce, getting his attention as they drove closer to Manhattan. She could already see the many indications of clean-up and reconstruction in Midtown, what was shown on the news so soon after the Attack. Skycranes dotted the city skyline, and there was still visible damage to be seen even from the Brooklyn Bridge. "You've been eating right, haven't you? You look like you're putting in some long hours."

"Doing a lot of coordination and planning for the reconstruction." Her cousin replied, looking a little sheepish. "Can't… really go out there and risk doing a lot of physical labor, so instead I'm working on projects and getting the pieces to fit so that the people get where their needed, getting the names of those found to their loved ones. Good work." That was her Bruce; a giving soul with such a heavy burden. "Could probably take care of myself a little better, but with families still working on being together, others who have holes and gaps because of the Chitauri…" He stopped talking, and the tension in his face said it all. She knew that look.

"You're helping. You're helping them, and that helps you." Jenn took Bruce's hand into her own and gave it a squeeze. "I'll make sure you're getting the food and sleep you need. You're more effective that way. I don't want you grumpy; nobody likes it when you're grumpy." That had the man named Clint Barton snort from the front seat, but Bruce had a lazy smile on his face from a memory long ago.

"God, how long ago was that? When you tried barbecuing fish right on the grill without wrapping it in aluminum foil first?" The physicist asked, his smirk growing. "People cook on a grill, Jenn; not cook the grill itself."

"Hey, I was nine! And a little bit of a pyro." That had Bruce chuckling, and for a brief moment, he wasn't a man burdened with grief and rage, with a three-day old shadow and looking as if he had been wearing the same clothes for at least two days in a row. For a moment, he was the Bruce from before; shy, huge nerd, smart as hell, and absolutely thirsty to solve problems everyone claimed to be unsolvable, thrilling at the intellectual challenge. Jenn could close her eyes and picture _that night_, the night both of their lives changed forever. A soggy Bruce standing at her front door, soaked to the bone and a fear in his eyes she hadn't seen since she was a child, utterly terrified of _himself_. That night haunted her dreams still to this day. "I did learn how to grill fish properly, I'll have you know. Without catching the grill on fire." The archer up front was trying not to chuckle out loud but failing. "Wait, can you do the whistle?"

"What whistle?" Clint Barton asked, turning enough to look at her as they began to enter into Manhattan. Jenn smirked at Bruce for a moment as she did a four-tone bar that came from a movie not even two months old. Hawkeye's green eyes just bored into her with an even greater intensity with the identity of the song she was suggesting that involved an archer in a movie. "I am _not_ whistling that fucking song." The man turned in a huff as Bruce bit at a knuckle to keep from laughing out loud at the reference. "Fuck, Tony's going to hear about this and change everyone's ring tone to that fucking song."

"Awww… may the odds be ever in your favor." Natasha was cracking up in the drivers' seat with Jenn's delivery as her cousin couldn't hold back anymore, laughing hard and slapping his own leg. _God, it's so good to see him smile like that,_ Jenn thought as she looked at Bruce, seeing that burden forgotten for just one precious moment. She might have teased the world's deadliest archer by referencing him to _The Hunger Games_ and Katness Everdeen, but to see Bruce smile, to hear him laugh?

It was worth it.

* * *

Author's Note: I took a great deal of Earth-616 and put it into the MCU, including canon middle names and backgrounds. The _one_ thing I changed was the fact that Doctor Bruce Banner went to live with his Aunt Elaine and Uncle Morris Walters instead of Susan Banner-Drake, like in the comics, so that Bruce and Jenn could be closer in a familial way. The name of the man who was to torture Natasha in the Avengers movie is correct according to the credits, and his rank based off the characters' costume. If there is a big canon diverg, it will likely be Clint Barton's Earth-616 history. It's… kinda silly.

I make a couple references to the first _Hulk_ movie with Eric Bana, Jennifer Connolly, and… ugh, Nick Nolte. The most specific one was the Doctors-Without-Borders scene where Eric utters the famous quote from the television show ("Don't make me angry; you wouldn't like me when I'm angry"), as well as the fact that the Army did try to capture/kill Bruce Banner. While it was Sam Elliott that played General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross in the first movie, William Hurt took over for the second one and then later on a Secretary Ross for _Captain America: Civil War_. I might bring up the idiocy of having a man who created the Hulk being in charge of keeping a lid on the Avengers due to their destructive nature later on.

Both Clint and Bruce had abusive fathers in the comics, and both of their families were torn apart by that abuse (Bruce's father did in fact kill his mother, and I believe Clint's parents died in a car crash caused by his fathers' anger). For Doctor Brian Banner's middle name, I gave him the first name of the actor who played Doctor David Banner from _The Incredible Hulk_ television show from the 70's, Bill Bixby.

_The Hunger Games_ came out on March 23, 2012, while the _Avengers_ came out on May 4 of the same year. I make the 'dates' for the Avengers' movie co-inside with its release, and the Attack happens a week after Loki appears on Midgard/Earth.

Jennifer Walters (Esq.) is somewhat based off of her Earth-616 character, minus the events enacted by Nicholas Trask that ended up being responsible for her being shot and receiving a blood transfusion from her cousin. That hasn't happened. Jenn is a Mk. I Human Being.

I know what you're thinking with that previous sentence there, dear reader. Just keep reading, true believer.


	2. The New Hire, II

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, May 20, 2012**

_**For Stan**_

_+9 Days after the Battle of New York_

Clinton Francis Barton sat in the passenger seat as the 2011 Porsche Cayenne rolled through traffic in a slow, accordion manner thanks to automobile congestion and the many areas that were still roped off due to damages, construction, demolition, and access. The New York Police Department, the New York State Troopers, the New York Sheriff's Department, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, the Department of Homeland Security, and the newly-minted Department of Damage Control had a several block area contained and quarantined to prevent scavengers and less-than-ideal opportunists from collecting Chitarui Technology (which they had come to call ChiTech) and trying to use it, adapt it, sell it, or something else horrific.

Already there had been busts and raids involving the alien technology, and Anthony Edward Stark had used his considerable influence to get the United States Government to place the leadership of the new agency in his hands to prevent any kind of new-generation weaponry from being created by those who wished to use it for profit or war. Clint knew that Tony had his Natural Language Program JARVIS scour video feeds, CCTV recordings, cell phone vid captures, and even internet postings to locate as many bodies of fallen Chitauri warriors to abscond with their weapons, energy cells, hover skids, armor, and anything else that was of a magnitude more than what a normal man possessed, not to mention the bodies of no less than almost two dozen ultra-massive Leviathans that littered the Midtown area. Thankfully the idea of an alien clean-up program came quickly, the city using normal city construction contractors for the demolition initially until an FBI Agent found some construction worker smuggling alien metal and weapons and trying to sell it on eBay. The FBI had descended upon that like the wrath of God, but the very real fact that there would be a black market for such dangerous technology and that no one had any idea how to safeguard it or dispose of it had Tony jump right up with his usual piss-and-vinegar bravado and steal the show. Which… was actually a good thing. The United States Government practically handed the job to a man who knew all about dangerous tech and was a celebrated hero instead of some numb-skull politician who probably didn't operate his own microwave oven, and Tony had created a bureau that was populated with a mix of SHIELD Agents, FBI Agents, ATF Agents, DEA Agents, and the US Marshals to clamp down on possibly smuggling and black market sales very quickly.

Clint wouldn't lie; that had him breathing easier. The last thing anyone needed was someone trying to make something out of a Chitauri power core and having it blow up their house and the next several houses around it by doing something anonymously stupid. Or worse.

The gridlock slowly disappeared as the Porsche reached the first blockade, manned by the New York State Troopers, easily identified by their navy blue campaign hats. Barton knew that they checked everyone through a series of systems, ascertained the persons' actual business in that portion of the city, and then called a point-of-reference number pertaining to said business. There was absolutely no obligation for them to pass a person through; if they didn't like you? Oh well. It wasn't like many people lived in Midtown, and most of the businesses were shut down and had moved temporarily for the clean-up and construction.

Midtown was a bit of a ghost town, a sad empty shell of its former self, and many agencies kept it that way. The four of them would be going through the check point, and it wasn't exactly a guarantee that all four would pass. Natasha had written half the protocols (clandestinely) with an eye towards anti-espionage and anti-infiltration. Considering those were her exact jobs, the protocols had been quickly adapted so that a singular person passing the check point didn't mean the entirety of the contents of a vehicle passed. No, each individual had to pass, have proper identification, have someone inside the quarantine area to vouch for them, and have a reasonable explanation for being there. Reporters, politicians, New Yorkers, construction workers, and all sorts had tried and failed (most being good honest folk, but some likely not) with zero repercussions to the New York State Troopers or whomever else was manning the checkpoint. And the Troopers (or whomever else) were rotated in which section they worked in on a daily basis to avoid corruption and planned infiltration. Plus there were cameras fucking everywhere. And JARVIS was monitoring them all for any signs of illegal entry on either a requestee or someone who was suppose to be doing their job right. Already dozens of Troopers or Officers had been caught and fired (not sent away… _fired_) and hundreds of people with priors and suspected ties to terrorist organizations or clandestine agencies had been caught as well.

Nobody was fucking around. And Tony was receiving heaps of praise for his vigilance and the fact they were catching terrorists and American separatists dumb enough to try.

"Jesus, it's like a landlocked Alcatraz." Jennifer Susan Walters said from the back of the Cayenne, her tone dubious as she saw no less than a dozen uniformed Troopers armed with Glock 19 9mm pistols, Mossberg M500 shotguns, and Colt AR-10 Assault Rifles, looking more akin to a military checkpoint than a police-oriented one. For the chance of ChiTech, Natasha and Tony had assumed someone with deep pockets who could afford some Special Forces-trained operative or high-end mercenary with some good quality equipment and training to give it a go with the thought of defeating the checkpoints, not just secreting themselves in. All the weapons they carried were highlighted by the fact that half of the Troopers were in Aimpoint Improved Ballistic Armor, what the United States Army wore in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the other half in riot gear complete with ballistic shields. Midtown was under martial law, and this portion of the city looked akin to a Communist Police State instead of American soil. Whatever complaints there were in the media or social networks were drowned by highlights of ChiTech raids and apprehensions of dangerous individuals that were trying to access them. Nobody wanted Al-Queda, Iran, or North Korea with ChiTech in their hands. "How anal will this be?"

"Completely and utterly. I designed it that way." Natasha Alianovna Romanoff replied from the driver seat, looking up to the rear-view mirror for a moment before returning her eyes to the line trying to get into Midtown, concrete Jersey Barriers blocking the way along with strands of concertina wires and police cruisers. The set up was very much like one of the military-ran gates in Camp Liberty in Baghdad one saw on the news; a turnbuckle approach that denied a ramming scenario, a search area for both persons and vehicle, and a means to turn around and head back upon failing. General success of a person who was _suppose_ to be able to enter was around ninety percent, but perhaps only thirty percent of the coming populous made it, most of them being sight-seers and the curious.

"I guess having Jane Bond creating an anti-007 checkpoint has its merits." That had Clint snort, realizing that, for a lawyer, Jennifer certainly had a wit to her. Oh, he knew that the earlier comments she made towards him and _The Hunger Games_ wasn't at his expense, but for her cousin Doctor Robert Bruce Banner; he saw how she smiled when Bruce had let of a genuine laugh. They might have been cousins, but one look was all he needed to know that they saw each other as direct family, and not distant or once-removed family. Bruce had supposedly lived with the Walters' for something like four to five years after his father murdered his mother, and Jenn had been there for Bruce after that traumatizing event. Clint didn't have to think long and hard about his own abusive father to know what the Doctor had to face, and Jenn had earned a good deal of respect in Barton's book when she had done her best to help her cousin through the ordeal as a young girl, too young to understand what was going on, but knowing that Bruce needed her help. To this day, it was obvious that they were still close, though the creation of the Hulk had separated them physically. Yet the existence of 'the other guy' hadn't stopped Walters in hiding Bruce when Major General Thaddus Ross tried to capture the man to create more Hulks, or smuggling him outside the dragnet that was Southern California. Even SHIELD had no idea how she had been able to do either act, as there was no trace of any cell phone, ATM transaction, debit card purchase, car rental, plane ticket, train ticket, taxi receipt, or picture/video capture from when it happened back in 2003; not a week prior to the accident until Banner accidentally turned up in Belize in a Doctor-without-Borders volunteer camp when local extortionists tried to steal the medicine the humanitarian effort were practically giving away for free and tried to kill everyone to hide the act of their crime.

They made the unfortunate mistake of making Doctor Bruce Banner… grumpy. No one liked it when he was grumpy. Or green. Or nine feet tall and weighing in at fourteen hundred pounds.

The Porsche moved up and was now in the queue for its turn for inspection, a New York State Trooper in full military armor and armed with a Mossberg shotgun coming to the driver side door while another armed with an AR-10 stood just to the side of the passenger side, keeping several meters back to fire upon anyone that deemed themselves a threat. Clint didn't doubt a few of them were vets from the Afghan/Iraq War had had done Traffic Control Points a hundred times over.

"Name, identification, reason for entrance, and point-of-contact, ma'am." The shotgun-bearing Trooper asked, one hand on his Glock while he stood just out of arms reach of Natasha. Good, he was following protocol about being too close.

"Natasha Romanoff." The redheaded woman replied, looking at the Trooper. "My identification." It was already on the top of the dashboard in plain sight as many signs suggested to avoid looking like someone was going for a gun. "It consists of a New York Drivers' License, a United States Government badge, and a Federal-level Conceal Permit complete with a Walter PPK 9mm." Nat was handing over the aforementioned identifications to the Trooper, making her extend her arm fully to hand it to him, letting the Trooper remain in the superior position. He took it and examined it for a moment before handing it over. "We are escorting two expert-level personnel to Stark Industries, and our point of contacts are Virgina Potts and Major Maria Hill." Hundreds, if not thousands, tried accessing the quarantine using Tony Stark's name as a reference, in which all of those were shut down. Tony didn't authorize access to anyone, and didn't want to be called. Instead, Virgina 'Pepper' Potts was the access contact for Stark Industries, while Maria Hill was the access contact for SHIELD. Director Nicholas Samuel Fury wasn't about to answer that phone, either. "One person has never entered into the compound, and doesn't have access rights, yet."

"You know the protocols." The Trooper grunted as he pulled out a device that was about the size of a gaming console that had a dark screen on its top. "Left or right hand fully pressed upon the surface for confirmation, ma'am." Natasha placed her hand upon the biometric reader for five seconds until it chimed, and the Trooper waited until he heard a radio confirmation that her palm print matched her identity about five seconds later. It could have been done quicker, Clint knew for a fact, but Tony and SHIELD had given the decade-old technology its day in the sun because it was in fact more advanced than what the police were use to using… and SHIELD knew its electronic and systematic weaknesses in defense of exploitation. They had intentionally left a few obvious exploitable vulnerabilities for potential hackers because no one wanted just to assume that the system was full-proof. Plus the protocol was designed with three levels of confirmation, making it that much harder to fake an identity that would pass.

Natasha had spent two days trying to do just that, attempting different infiltration techniques to see where the weak spots were. She had found only three physical ones, two electronic ones, and two systematic ones. She changed the protocols as necessary and attempted to infiltrate again. She did so at least once a day, unannounced and with full-intent to get inside like an espionage agent would. Anyone that correctly stopped her for whatever reason got a five thousand dollar bonus for capturing the Black Widow, and that certainly had the Troopers on their toes. Especially when one fresh-faced Statie had captured her on a suspicion while she went in disguise _as a man_. He had been the first to stop her in drag, Nat having been successful three times before posing as an overweight balding father of two insurance assessor named Michael Hodgkin. That Trooper got ten grand as an 'attaboy' from Captain Steven Grant Rogers himself, Captain America delivering the check right to the Troopers' hands with a photo op for the Trooper to hang on his wall, shaking hands with the Guardian of Liberty.

It made getting in hell. Which was the point.

"Well, you really are the Black Widow." The Trooper peered into the car, all the tinted windows down as his eyes looked at Clint, Bruce, and Jennifer. "You don't have Thor in the trunk, do you?"

"Thor flies with his hammer." The redhead replied as the Trooper nodded and went over to Clint, his partner switching sides as well so that he didn't have to fire around his friend in case it was needed. They did the same with Clint, and the archer followed the rules to the letter, made helpful by the signs through the vehicle turnbuckle of the seriousness of being prepared and what to do. The process took about just as long as it did with Nat, and went through the same motions, Clint handing over his own New York State Driver's License, government badge, and conceal permit along with him telling the Trooper what he was armed with. His identification got an amused comment as well, the officer recognizing the name for the Hawkeye. Still, despite the notoriety he got the same level of attention and inspection, which was what was needed. There had been a news report of a pissy US Senator who had failed the inspection checkpoint two days prior by insisting he was important (and he was on some Congressional Sub-Committee, so he actually was) and be let through, only not to fail because of his insistence, but _arrested_ when he got an attitude. That Senator from Virginia had gone to the media to cry on the publics' shoulder within the hour of his release (he was jailed for twenty minutes in the 'nice' cells), claiming that he had been discriminated against and began mud-slinging the NYPD, the New York State Troopers, and everyone else under the sun. Less than an hour later, he had his walking papers handed to him from the Senate Pro Tempe himself while in the middle of a news conference (regardless that they were in the same political party), and the State of Virgina was going to have a mid-term election to replace their Junior Senator. Oh, the Trooper in question got a ten-grand bonus check from Captain America, too. Publicly. With a photo op.

It was the first instance of a public servant ever having been fired on the spot in front of God, Country, and the President of the United States. No surprise, there had been a boost in the approval rating and public opinion.

* * *

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., sat in the back seat of the 2011 Porsche Cayenne as she watched the New York State Troopers rotate from their positions after they had done checking off on Natasha Alianovna Romanoff and Clinton Francis Barton, the lawyer knowing that it would be both her and Doctor Robert Bruce Banner's turn. While she wasn't too worried about the checkpoint in of itself, she remembered the _last_ time she and Bruce had to go through one together, two weeks after the _Incident_ in which the United States Army and California State Patrol had practically scourged through Palo Alto to locate the scientist. That had been a terrible night that had been done because both she and Bruce knew that the Army would eventually locate him, and her cousin was more worried for _her_ than anything that they would do to him, though that had been a big concern, too. So Jenn had stolen a UPS uniform and vehicle and 'escaped' the dragnet by pretending to be a delivery driver in a large brown van with a series of official parcel boxes taped together onto a two-by-four frame that had Bruce laying in the framework like a cardboard coffin to disguise his hiding location. She had gone through a checkpoint manned by no less than three armed soldiers, a California State Patrolman, and a California Highway Patrolman in a brown UPS uniform while driving a brown UPS truck, grateful that she knew how to drive a manual transmission. One of the soldiers had climbed inside the vehicle to check the back as part of the routine, and Jenn had opened the cargo area door and watched as the soldier merely popped his head in, seeing what she wanted him to see; a bunch of organized boxes that needed delivery. The escape plan had worked as Jenn delivered Bruce to the coast where her father's old twenty-four foot fishing boat was moored at the local pier, knowing that roads, trains, planes, and buses would be monitored heavily. Jenn had taken her cousin to the pier, had said her goodbyes, straining not to break down and cry in front of him as she knew that moment would likely be their final farewell. The man that she saw as a brother had sailed away that day for everyone's safety, his and others, and Jenn had left the pier with a broken heart but a clear conscious, knowing she had done the right thing by both Bruce and the unknowing victims who could be potentially harmed by his rampages due to the hubris of one Army General.

She slipped a hand into her cousins', giving it a squeeze.

"I was thinking about the pier." Jenn said as the Trooper asked for her identification, which sat openly on her lap. The lawyer handed over her California State Drivers' License, and for good measure, her business card as well. The business card was of good quality and design, made to be appealing. It listed the name of her firm, that she was in fact the proprietor of her firm, and the different legal specialties that she offered. She had learned at her time as Junior Associate for the Law Office of Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway's (GLK&H), an Los Angeles-based mega-firm that regularly farmed legal talent from Law School. It was there that Jenn learned the ropes and earned her chops, working twelve hour days and covering multiple disciplines to keep up with the workload. GLK&H was known to crush beginning lawyers with work (really, all firms did that) but any that survived five years of that hell were practically set up to handle everything. Jenn had built up her business book, lived modestly so she could set cash aside, learned the nuances of business law, personal injury, tax, torts, malpractice, civil, constitutional, and legal. She had passed her California Bar Exam with high scores in several areas, and GLK&H taught and groomed her in those disciplines instead of specializing her in just one field.

Five years at Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway had Jenn qualified and recognized in eight different legal arenas and with a very healthy starter egg to run her own law practice. Her mentor, Holden Holliway, had even given her ideas how to do so, knowing that 'expanding' practices by farming talent and helping them start their own firms was good for business, the economy, as well as alleviating some of the workload a mega-firm had. Jenn hadn't been shy to use some of the contacts that her father, former-Sheriff Morris Walters, had gleaned over the years when she opened her practice in San Bernardino, her very first case being the defense of an off-duty San Bernardino Sheriff's Deputy who had been involved in a traffic accident when a drunk motorist struck _him_, and the motorist-in-question tried to sue the Deputy for a wide swath of infractions involving an Officer when the jerk had hit an off-duty Deputy while driving-while-intoxicated. The County had fronted the bill of the civil suit, Jenn had easily won the case (really, a teenager could have probably won that case), and she quickly became the go-to girl from a fair deal of legal proceedings for the County of San Bernardino when it couldn't use its own District Attorneys' office in such things like civil suits, business proceedings, workers' rights claims, a couple of constitutional cases (generally towards discrimination that the County was innocent of except for one instance of racial profiling), and even a torts case in the benefit of a transportation employee who had gotten a worker-related injury through a hospital that was covered by Workers' Compensation and County Health Insurance, but the Doctor had went an operated on the _wrong_ damn knee for a torn ACL done slipping off of slippery bus stairs during a rainstorm.

The card read Walters and Associates. She only had the both of them plus her small staff.

She mimicked all that Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton had done for the checkpoint, placing her hand on the electronic palm reader to confirm her identity after giving her point-of-contact, one Michelle Vargas. Everything was going as it should as she leaned practically half out of the window of the Porsche Suburban Utility Vehicle to put her hand on the tablet-looking device, knowing that the tactic was suppose to be in favor for the police and against anyone that might be trying to do something stupid. In this, she wasn't too worried; a military-oriented police checkpoint, while worrisome, was only a concern for those with the intent to do something dumb.

Unfortunately, she did happen to sit right next to a man whom had issues with coping with stress and anxiety.

Her cousin Doctor Robert Bruce Banner was doing the same thing as they all had, handing over his identification and giving his point-of-contact information. As she understood it, Bruce was working on coordination and information management, as well as scientific endeavors. Considering just how smart he was, having someone like him working on what the news called 'ChiTech' was likely a smart move; the big fear was what the alien technology could do in even benign hands, much less coveting ones. The only stories that matched the Battle of New York concerning media importance (from the fight all the way to the aftermath) were the stories on the raids and apprehensions of individuals trying to smuggle Chitauri-oriented materials and technologies out of Midtown Manhattan to deliver them to whomever was willing to pay for them. There were a few nations calling to question America's right to horde the technology for itself, but thankfully the United Nations' Security Council shut down some of the louder proponents (such as North Korea and Iran) stating that since the attack happened on American soil, was fought with American forces, and was being cleaned up with American dollars, the debris and remains were theirs by right. It was put out by the Secretary of State a few days ago that the technology would be investigated and reverse-engineered for mostly safe energy-related purposes, and that (in plain-speak) any that cooperated with America's sole proprietary involvement would get a slice of the pie. It was a nice way of quieting the voices of some of the less-than-friendly as their host nations realized that the largest and most powerful nation in the world was about to reinvent the wheel with alien technology, and Christmas gifts only came to good girls and boys. There was no doubt that there would be some weaponization, likely in the form of planetary defense with some geared towards American military interests.

Hey, Jenn wasn't complaining. Thank God the Chitauri had attacked America instead of North Korea. That nation would have had its ass kicked hard while at the same time denying any kind of help while insisting nothing was going on. God forbid what they would do with whatever scraps and pieces.

"Says here you have a policy addendum."

Jenn looked over to the opposite side of the SUV where the AR-10 armed New York State Trooper looked at Doctor Banner's identification and the read-out of his biometric data. She had a pretty good idea of what that addendum said; _be very nice; do your job, but be very nice about it._ The whole point of the checkpoint was to limit who would come in so that it would limit what got out. It was a harsh form of reality, but one that Jenn got completely. She didn't need for it to be spelled out for her what some of the alien technology could do in the wrong hands. She knew well enough thanks to Major General Thaddeus Ross just what a recreation of a seventy-year old secret weapons program could do in the hands of a militant officer looking to create super soldiers. The last thing anyone needed was Islamic extremists trying to make improvised explosive devices that were powered with extraterrestrial energy sources and God knew what in the form of exotic materials or computerized systems. And that was actually the 'nice' scenario. So the checkpoint and the entire analness of it the lawyer got fully; it had her full approval and cooperation on that front, along with that of a great deal of Americans according to surveys and polls. The cops were being hard because the job was that important, no question about it.

Just… Bruce was the last person anyone wanted stressed or anxious.

"That's correct, Officer." Banner spoke up, his tone sincere. "I'm one of the tech gurus brought in to figure out how safe the ChiTech is, if there's any dangerous ambient radiation or energy signatures, any kind of microbiological contaminations, or reaction to any elements or compounds native to Earth. We're being as fast and as safe as possible, but the stuff is just laying around and the last thing we need to find out is if some of the equipment can be accidentally activated through some benign means such as an X-Ray Machine or even thermal imaging equipment. That's my job." Ah, instead of having a policy addendum blurting out Bruce's identity as the Incredible Hulk, the addendum had been geared towards the fact that Doctor Robert Bruce Banner was likely the smartest man on the planet, and doing anything to harass or hurt him would be frowned upon incredibly. Pretty much labelling him as this century's Oppenheimer or Von Neumann would likely have most everyone at ease since most people were raised to respect geniuses. It was most likely true that Bruce was doing just that as well as coordination of relief and identification efforts on top of that; her cousin was always a hard worker who thrilled at the thought of challenges, both logical and academic.

"Step out of the vehicle, sir."

All four of the occupants shared the same thought at the same time, loud enough to be verbal.

_Fuck._

Jenn looked to Bruce, feeling her own heart racing as she looked to her cousin, her hand holding his as he gave it a squeeze and her a reassuring smile. God, she was panicking at that potential threat of an incident, and Lord only knew how _he_ was able to open the door and step out of the Porsche with the same mentality of a Death Row inmate walking to his own execution. The lawyer could tell that Natasha and Clint were both tense, highly-trained warriors in their own right that were now faced with a scenario _nobody_ wanted. None of them were equipped to deal with such a thing, and likely the Black Widow and Hawkeye had come to the realization however many days ago that if Bruce _did_ change into the Hulk, there wouldn't be a damn thing they could do about it. They were surrounded by police officers with highly-lethal weaponry in a checkpoint designed to put the cops in a superior position, and any one of them stepping out would only make the situation much much worse. _Please please please just ask to shake his hand or something, _Jenn thought desperately as she noticed the officers' partner with the shotgun had raised his weapon more towards her, physically aiming it at her. She was acting nervous, and he had picked up on it. In his mind, he was doing the right thing.

God, these idiots were going to get all of them killed.

Jenn had suffered and survived four Hulk rampages at close proximity; likely a world record. She wasn't looking forward to number five.

"Hands on the vehicle, sir."

It was like watching a movie when one knew the ending. Jenn knew everything was about to go horribly wrong and was utterly powerless to do anything about it.

Bruce complied with the Trooper by turning towards the Porsche and placing his hands on the frame in the typical spread-eagle search posture for a law-enforcement oriented pat down. Walters knew for a fact that such things weren't generally gentle; if a police officer suspected a person of having a concealed weapon or illegal narcotic on them, they forsook propriety for proficiency. Pat-downs weren't gentle; they were meant to protect the lives of both the Officer-in-question and everyone else around them.

But what happened when the person was a threat and a danger to everyone around them when put in a stressful situation?

Jenn tried not to be nervous just as much for Bruce's sakes as it was for the Officer now pointing a 12-gauge shotgun at her, knowing that the situation was hanging _very_ precariously on a _very_ thin thread. One wrong move, one wrong word, one wrong gesture, and things would go very wrong indeed. Causing Bruce any real pain or having his heart rate going above a hundred and eighty beats a minute would trigger his adrenal glands to pump adrenaline into his blood stream, which would cascade into his lymphatic system, his nervous system, and his cardiovascular system. Adrenaline was the trigger; it would cause his altered DNA to react violently to the chemical addition and begin to trigger a change. What people didn't know about the Incredible Hulk was that he was a recipient of the Super Soldier Serum that had been infused with gamma radiation instead of vita rays, altering how it reacted. Instead of creating a full-time perfect specimen like Captain America, it created as highly-altered man who turned into a nightmare whenever in danger, threatened, or in pain. The ancient response to fight or flight in a human being could be a magnificent thing; stories of mothers deadlifting refrigerators or even vehicles off of children, men bounding at speeds faster than any Olympian to save a life, people walking away from disaster that would surely have killed hundreds. Doctor Abraham Erkstein had crafted a chemical composition that would alter the human structure to reach that balance of strength and speed and make it permanent, to turn a man into a fully-capable human being with the potential to do almost any feat possible. He called it the Super Soldier Serum to get funding during World War II, but in reality the scientist was trying to do something more; to create the full-realized human being who enjoyed his full potential capabilities at all times, the perfect human.

But like any good science experiment, there were the hiccups, and one current hiccup was getting frisked right in the heart of a ruined Midtown.

Jenn sat perfectly still in her seat, knowing it was the right thing to do even if it was the last thing she wanted to do. She could tell by the way Clint Barton's arms were tensed and how his jaw clenched or the way Natasha Romanoff's knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel of the Porsche that they both felt and thought the same thing. The Trooper was about to set off a land mine, but any warning would only make it worse, making the Officer more suspicious instead of more lenient. Any kind of movement might put them in danger, and gunshots so near a volatile man was not a good idea. Anything that they did would likely be the catalyst to a very bad day, and some of the structures of Midtown were in the middle of being shored up or being demolished, dozens of construction vehicles and demolition vehicles in the confines of the zone where the Chitauri had attacked. If the Hulk rampaged through Midtown now, it would likely be just as bad as the Battle of New York where some demolitions had already occurred, several skyscraper cranes were set up, and a few of the structures were damaged enough that they might actually be brought down by the Hulk if a support beam was damaged. This was likely the worst location for it to happen in if it did.

How Bruce was able to lean against that frame and not begin to change was beyond Jenn; _she_ wanted to step out of the vehicle and punch someone!

"Alright, you're clear."

Jenn released the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding as her cousin quietly slipped into the Porsche, taking to his seat as she snaked her hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. God, she was just now realizing that she had practically sweat a bucket waiting for the inevitable disaster to occur, only to find that it had really been a routine pat-down. If Jenn had the same problem that Bruce had, _she_ would have been changing into the Hulk. How he did it she had no idea.

"Hey, you really are the strongest there is." Jenn said to the Doctor, giving him a smile as she looked to him. "I think I need a cold shower after that."

"You're not the only one." Clint said quietly, looking relaxed, but no doubt the archer and the spy in the front seat had been just as tense as Jenn. More prepared (to run, likely), but just as tense. The Porsche Cayenne pulled forward through the checkpoint and into the disaster area that was Midtown, its four occupants staring out the windows. Jenn had seen footage and pictures of the Battle and the aftermath, as likely everyone else had too thanks to the news, social media, and everyone else under the sun. Yet seeing it with her own eyes? The cracks that didn't show up on photos, the dust of broken buildings and lives on shattered sidewalks, the jagged edges of broken glass and innocence, the trash and remains that were blown and swept into corners, the remains of a time of blissful ignorance laid bare and broken at their feet. Holes in buildings from broken windows and blasted holes in their concrete confines revealed ruined interiors and ruined lives, the marks of crosses drawn or constructed out of available material to denote where a life had ended oh so brutally short, caution tape and construction barriers to keep people from being injured from still falling debris or holes in the pavement, the sight of a warzone in a fully-modern city. Jenn found herself blinking away tears at the sight, not even knowing why she was crying. She hadn't been here, she knew of its reality, but now?

"You okay?" Bruce asked her, concern tinging his voice.

"God… this could have been anywhere and everywhere." Jennifer Walters finally said, looking from the debris cityscape of Midtown to her cousin. "This war could still be being fought if it had been in certain locations, if…" She closed hers eyes, remembering the images captured of a hole torn in the sky, of hundreds of things on hovering chariots pouring out, flanked by massive flying creatures with the urge to conquer. "The fate of the world rested on the shoulders of a few hundred people; our darkest day, our greatest hour.

"Thank you. Ever single one of you, _thank you_."

* * *

Author's Note: It makes me really appreciate the masterpiece that Joss Whedon crafted in _The Avengers_; what truly kickstarted the franchise and brought it together in a way that I don't believe had ever been done before. Yes, two _Iron Mans_, a _Captain America_, and a _Thor_ had come out before, but so had The Incredible Hulk with Edward Norton, which hadn't done well. _The Avengers_ started what we think of as the Marvel Franchise, and did so in such a manner that really had people in awe. While this is AU, I didn't want to change what the movie had, but instead expand and show off the implications that a 2+ hour movie couldn't do with six superheroes running about, focusing on the story. Here, I wanted to focus on the aftermath in which we got a glimpse of at the beginning of _Spiderman: Homecoming_ with Adrian Toombs and his clean-up crew, showing some of the level of destruction that had to happen.

Some idea of the level of destruction in an urban setting comes from a historical reference point and then my own personal eyewitnessing accounts. In World War II, when Allied Forces were liberating France, we would _shell the fuck_ out of French villages to loosen/suppress Axis Forces while the French villagers hid in their basements and prayed as fucking hard as possible while we delivered artillery strikes for hours on in before sweeping in with tanks and soldiers to clear out towns. Actually, _Band of Brothers_ did a pretty good job of showing some of these accounts, as well as _Saving Private Ryan_, the directors wanting to show a bit of the tragedy of war. I used my own references from when I was deployed to the Middle East four times with the US Army as well, having been sent to Baghdad in early 2005 and witnessing several incidences that eventual evolved into what we later called 'The Surge'.


	3. The New Hire, III

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, May 20, 2012**

_**For Stan**_

_+9 Days after the Battle of New York_

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., stood in the lobby of Stark Tower on 42nd Street and Park Avenue. It was generally called the _Avengers Tower_ throughout the world.

She entered the lobby along with Natasha Alianovna Romanoff and Doctor Robert Bruce Banner while Clinton Francis Barton went to park the 2011 Porsche Cayenne, the Hawkeye merely a chauffeur driver as the lawyer found herself entering into a highly-advanced yet minimalist lobby alongside the Black Widow and the Incredible Hulk. The lobby was bereft of most anything to suggest that it was the House That Stark Built (what the magazine Popular Mechanic called it upon its completion two months prior) save that there were several screens on the walls that weren't large screen plasma television sets. They were even flatter and larger than anything she had ever seen on a commercial or store, and Jenn had to guess… Organic Light-Emitting Diode Technology? That would be sheets of plastic with electronic wiring that could send signals and pictures through the paper-thin plastic sheeting to convey pictures or even websites. God, with that technology, digital paper was almost a dream come true, where one could read a clear sheet newspaper and toggle which _publication_ one wanted to read over some wireless internet connection, making the tablet obsolete. The pictures showed Stark Industry business propaganda, and rotated a few images of high-tech research and development labs, scientists and technicians working in science and engineering labs, and yes, even a few of Tony Stark posing in his world-famous Iron Man suit like a kid with a new expensive toy on Christmas. The rest of the lobby lacked anything really considered art or decoration, not even fake potted plants. Instead, there was a service center representative desk in the lobby manned by no less than six persons in three-piece suits that all had the look of cops and soldiers about them. These were the 'front line' of those who wished to seek out the Avengers, friendly or not, and Jenn briefly wondered how many guns they had at their disposal, or if they had something more… exotic.

She briefly wondered if War Machine was on speed dial.

"Miss Romanoff. Miss Walters. Doctor Banner." A woman approached them from behind the desk, wearing a female-oriented business suit that certainly conveyed the unspoken message of _serious professional_. It was a black ensemble with a plain white blouse that lacked femininity, and slacks instead of a skirt. A quick check showed that the footwear wasn't heels or even pumps, but black boots oriented more towards military or law enforcement. Government worker… but not a desk jockey? At first guess, Jenn would have said _FBI Agent_ or something along those lines; trained, armed, but picked for her intelligence and mental abilities as oppose to that of a field agent. Able to crack heads but more apt to get into the head of an adversary. "I'm Maria Hill." The woman offered Jenn her right hand, and the lawyer shook it. It was a semi-masculine handshake.

"You're not FBI." The Esquire observed, seeing a few variations from what she had seen in the normal look of a government agent, especially that of a woman. She dressed sensibly enough to suggest that she took her job seriously, looked athletic enough to suggest that some physically in the workplace was involved or expected, and Jenn certainly didn't get the impression of a bureaucrat or an office flunkie. Considering where she was, what it represented, and the fact that she was standing right next to the Black Widow… "CIA?" The woman just blinked at her, a little taken aback. Obviously Jenn figured something out that she was likely not suppose to.

"While the answer's actually no, you're not wrong either." The woman replied, giving the lawyer a nod of respect. "You'll find out more in a bit but for now plausible deniability and no non-disclosure agreement means you're going to chomp on that bit for a few hours or so. Smart, observant, I think I like this one." That was said to Natasha, making the redhead snort. "If you could follow me, Miss Walters? You will need to be escorted for the time being due to the fact that you are now walking in one of the most secured facilities in the world with an electronic security system that would blow your mind if you knew."

"As long as I'm not paying the babysitting bill, I'm okay with it." Jenn replied, getting Hill to snort a little. Walters followed the woman as they went past the desk with the six men whom all looked _extremely_ athletic, and Jenn didn't doubt that every single one of them was an ex-something or another that involved fancy acronyms like SWAT, FBI, or SEAL. The men didn't just look like professionals; they _oozed_ it out of every pore and glance. These were the type of men that would be the poster children of American wrath if someone had been dumb enough to try to invade or harm its citizens, and it wasn't hard for Jenn to imagine them in an Army-oriented Desert Combat Uniform, fully decked out in combat armor with an M-4 in their hands, or perhaps whatever SEALs wore before slipping into the waves and reminding bad guys why the night should be feared. Each and every one of them wore standard black suits with white dress shirts, but the way the shirts were taunt was something she had seen a thousand times over on the men of the San Bernardino County Sheriff's; body armor, likely law enforcement-edition. No doubt under those black blazers were pistols and magazines that went with them, and Jenn wouldn't have been surprised if those pistols weren't supplemented with something more of a heavier caliber and larger magazine capacity. If one of them popped out an Israeli-made Uzi, she wouldn't have been surprised at all. The lawyer followed the woman closely, taking her words to heart about the seriousness of the security of the building and the people manning it, trying to imagine the _electronic security system_ that was possibly more than she could guess. Facial recognition was a big thing, of course, but this Maria Hill already knew who and what she was, so it would have to be something more… exotic. Likely, whatever it was would blow the Esquire's mind.

Miss Hill walked towards a bank of ultramodern elevators, ten in all for the world-famous ninety-three story building that also encompassed a thirty-five story building to the south and a fifty-five story building to the north, buttressing the main plaza building that had still looked scorched and banged-up from when an alien god decided to use the building as platform for global conquest by opening up a wormhole through God knew what to connect it to an alien invasion. Surprisingly, the interior didn't seem damaged or perhaps it had been repaired quickly as Jenn followed the woman to the last elevator on the right, bypassing the others that had electronic screens instead of buttons for access, pressing the floor selection instead of the generic up-and-down option. The lawyer figured the screens to be biometric as well, reading the fingerprint of the person as well as logging their potential destination. Stark Tower was the host to several businesses ranging from tech ventures, to design firms, to financial corporations, no doubt executives enjoying flouting an address that was famous before but now legendary; 200 Park Avenue, home of the Avengers. The Tower had been a bit of a celebrity item before when it had been bought by Tony Stark a few years prior, turning the MetLife Building into an even taller tower than its original fifty-three story height and keeping the top ten levels for himself. When one of the world's richest men and public superhero buys a building, people tend to notice these things. Especially when said building was smack in the middle of New York City.

Jenn was now in that very building.

Maria Hill went to the last elevator and placed her hand on the black screen next to the elevator where buttons would have been, a positive 'chime' coming from it before a voice came from the same apparatus.

_[Voice recognition, please]_, came a man's voice, soft and slightly British.

"Major Maria Hill, Deputy Director." The woman replied, Jenn noting both the rank and the title. Oh, there were a few organizations out there that used military-oriented ranks, mostly law enforcement and some other civil service organizations, yet the job description had her intrigued. 'Deputy Director' would usually be right under 'Director' or close proximity of it. _Homeland Security?_, Jenn mused, looking the woman over. It was no real secret that the higher echelons of American Government positions were staffed with politicians, friends of politicians, and party-oriented personnel. The Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations might be a lifelong FBI Agent, but chances were that he had attached himself to whatever current chair-holder there was to the Attorney General, the title for the Secretary of Justice, or the President of the United States of America. The same could be said for the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, Homeland Security, and a few other government agencies. Yet 'Deputy Director' was a bit of a toss-up; it could be the friend-of-a-friend… or that one person who actually knuckled down and got the work done, not playing the political game oh so apparent in the higher echelons of government service. The lawyer noted that the woman looked to about thirty years of age; not unheard of for a woman of that age to be that rank in the United State Military, and actually that was pretty typical. The way she dressed and walked showed her to be a woman of professional pride; she didn't flaunt her body or exaggerate her hips to highlight her femininity. Oh, she could have been bumped up faster being the girlfriend/wife of someone, but no; this was a woman who took her job seriously. Deputy Director was was a position usually held by someone competent, someone who knew how to get their hands dirty and knew how the system work. The political appointee could change several times during a political season, but those directly under them, the Vice something-or-another or the Deputy of generally held those positions for years, the grizzled veterans of the rank-and-file. The woman didn't _look_ like one of those (because one of those were generally in the forties or fifties) but the way she moved? Yes, most certainly someone who hadn't pushed their career forward merely through office work and knowing people. This was woman who got the job done, be it behind a computer or slapping a pair of handcuffs on a pair of wrists.

_No, probably not Homeland Security, then_, Jenn figured as the elevator doors opened, and the four of them slipped inside.

"Penthouse suite, Jarvis." The woman called out to the unseen speaker, no doubt the person behind the state-of-the-art access as the elevator began to rise smoothly, a digital counter beginning to count upward as the elevator ascended Stark Tower. The lawyer became rather aware that, considering that there were two legitimate _Avengers_ riding in the elevator car with her, that this was how the Black Widow and Captain America got up to the now world-famous platform and penthouse that was all owned and controlled by Anthony Edward Stark, more famously known as Tony Stark, the Iron Man. Supposedly, the top ten floors were his and his alone, and God only knew what Jenn was about to see. What kind of playland did a _billionaire mechanical genius_ live in? The microwave would probably be mind-blowing, and completely missed out as Jenn visibly drooled at whatever the television happened to be. She didn't see Tony Stark going to a Best Buy to shell out a few thousand bucks on a large-screen LCD. The interior of his personally-owned Bombardier Challenger 300 had given testimony to that when the lawyer saw that the chairs were made out of leather, resembled Lazy-Boys, and had some sort of refrigerant system for the _cup holder_ on the arm rest.

Jennifer Walters realized she had no idea what she was about to be walking into once the elevator doors opened.

* * *

Twenty-five hundred miles. Six hour flight time. Three different times zones going forward. One personally-owned private jet. Three Avengers. A military-styled checkpoint. One Stark Tower.

One very late client.

Jennifer Walters, Esq., wasn't surprised. She billed by the hour, after all.

But the entrance of one Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark, known as the Iron Man? Coming from the sky and landing on a small helipad in what appeared to be the very same suit that he used to fight the Chitauri in the Battle of New York? To see him rocketing from the south over the New York skyline where the wide bay windows showed the swath of buildings and towers that was Lower Manhattan, to see him coming up and over the Rockefeller Center and glide over the helipad and make a landing VTOL-style? Watching as a metal circle spun upward to disengage the parts of the suit and collect them with servos and arms as the man himself _strolled_ down the gangway from the landing pad as if without a care in the world, as if something such as this were everyday for him?

_Jaw-dropping_ didn't cover it.

Jenn watched as one of the richest men _in the world_ breezed right into his own Tower like a returning king, a very large bay window sliding aside without a sound to give him access to the world-famous Stark Tower, dressed in a business casual suit that certainly didn't come from a Sears or even a Nordstroms'. The very manner in which he walked, the confidence that he exuded was telling; this was a hyper-intelligent man with way too much wealth and use to the world being served to him on a silver platter. Everything about him screamed _playboy!_ while he walked into his personal domain, a pair of custom sunglasses that didn't really hide his eyes framed that famous face known for being one of America's most loyal defenders; the warmonger who built weapons to protect democracy and the American way of life. Now it was the face of a man believed to be the righteous guardian of Earth, one who would be looked to if and when their very planet was at risk, Mankind in peril. For a man born into wealth, power and prestige, this would have seemed to be the crowning achievement for someone who had everything he could have possibly ever wanted.

Until Jenn saw those eyes. The eyes didn't match the man at all.

"Ah, Jenn, you came! Good!" Tony Stark greeted the lawyer with a bit of flare, a greeting that was more use to red carpets and charity events where one met strangers and professed to be friends. This was a man who fielded reporters, interest group executives, business magnates of the highest caliber, and fenced verbally with politicians, Generals, and the occasional terrorist before blasting them silly. There was a persona there, a shell, the public face being a suit in of itself; everything was a game to this man, and Tony had always been on top of that game. Jenn shook his hand (a little nervously) as he gestured towards the 'perfect' meeting spot; a glass bar that was complete with a shelf of decanters housing alcohols that ranged from _God knows what_ and _God knows where_. None of them had labels, and they certainly didn't look to be in the shape of the normal liquor bottles one would find in a liquor store. Jenn approached the bar and noted that the decanters were _crystal_ (probably Swarovski, the largest producer of high-end lead glass), and she had a weird thought; it was somebody's job to keep Tony's liquor cabinet stocked with booze. She tried to imagine _that_ on a resume: Tony Stark's liquor connoisseur. "A drink before business, a drink during business, or a drink after business?" Jenn didn't want to say it out loud, but she highly suspected at seeing those eyes, the ones rimmed with dark smudges underneath? There would likely be a drink at all three events for the billionaire. One generally didn't drink _before_ or _during_ business. Then again, one generally wasn't one of a handful of saviors of an entire planet, either.

"Before. Something light." Sometimes one had to play to the client, and this was about as unusual as one could ever expect in the legal world. When Jenn had worked for the Law Office of Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway as a Junior Associate, she had met some top-tier and high-end clientele that would make the normal person sweat and a lawsuit-happy lawyer drool. She had been in the same room as the Chief Executive Officer of Kaiser Permanente, one of the premiere insurance corporations of America. Not a Vice President, not a Board Member; _the _CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation and one of the largest names in its industry. She hadn't talked to the man, of course (the Partners did that, leaving little Junior Associates like herself to do the mundane tasks like fetching coffee and filing injunctions) but the act was to get herself (and other probie lawyers) use to dealing with men who exuded power, authority, money, and control. Lawyers weren't suppose to be humbled at such things, especially if they were on the opposing side of such figures. In boardrooms, courtrooms, meeting rooms, and conference rooms, Jenn had met men and women who were of wealth and authority, be it legal, civil, monetary, or self-actualized (or self-inflated). She had once met a man who claimed to own thirty percent of all car dealerships in Southern California (meaning the ones in Los Angeles and San Diego), which would have made him quite a wealthy man considering those said dealerships were the ones with the major car manufacture names on the business boards in front of the lots, not some second-hand parking lot dealer who would sell a car to anyone at an extortionist-rated APR. Jenn had met wealthy men.

Tony Stark blew them out of the water. Easily.

To say that Tony was rich and famous was putting it mildly; everything this man did was trend-worthy, was on the cover of magazines, was reported on by news, and was blasted all over the internet and social media. It wasn't unusual for Tony Stark to crash some sort of high-end party, shake a few hands, make a few quips and sharp insults, declare some sort of new thing that everyone would immediately jump upon, and then leave said party with a pair of high-class good-looking women to jump into whatever high-priced pastarocket he was driving that month at full speed, the cops not even bothering to try to pull him over. The man was practically untouchable on a number of levels. He could buy out and financially flatten his enemies, he could swing the economy and boost (or drop) the stock market with a few words, politicians vied for his favor while cursing at him behind his back, and he could probably topple a regime over a weekend by buying and selling to their enemies or their freedom fighters. He set the mens' fashion standard, graced Gentlemen's Quarterly and For Him Magazine on a regular basis, and wasn't a stranger to Men's Health, either, showing off what a early-40's man could look like. He had single-handedly crafted the American military machine with weapons, innovations, and designs while at the same time donating ludicrous amounts of money to charities, organizations, and other philanthropic causes. He had been interviewed by the best and came out on top, pictured by thousands looking like an American prince should. Tony didn't live a movie star's lifestyle; movie stars lived a Tony Stark lifestyle. He could show up on Larry King and look like a man on top of the world, to a Senate inquest just to tell them to kiss his ass and leave with a smile, and then host Saturday Night Live and bring down the house all on the same day. Every famous face, star athlete, A-list actor, business mogul, and tech sector titan all wanted _his_ attention, groveling to the man who had superseded them all. He was their Leonardo da Vinci and their Julius Augustus Caesar all rolled into one.

And that was before he made himself a suit that made the F-22 Raptor look like last centuries' model.

People paid tens of thousands of dollars in auction for charity events to spend a small amount of time with Tony Stark. Jenn was getting it for free.

The billionaire served the lawyer a fingers' worth of an amber liquor in a crystal glass that Jenn assumed was likely a high-end Scotch while Tony helped himself to several fingers' worth, the Esquire trying not to visibly wince at what was easily several shots worth of liquor in a glass. Jenn had taken to a stool set at the glass bar that was set in Tony Starks' penthouse suite, having already taken a small tour of the large open-air room with its magnificent view of downtown Manhattan that was completely uninterrupted by any building taller than it, or even close to it. Maria Hill, Natasha Romanov, and her cousin Doctor Bruce Banner had long since went their ways though Bruce had spent more than an hour with her catching up and just being able to relax before getting back to his work helping the city recover from the Chitauri attack while Jennifer waited for her client.

She had a good idea what this might be about thanks to the short phone call that Bruce had given her, obviously not allowed to say much over a phone call. It was pretty obvious, actually.

"So, to business." Tony began after taking a nice-sized swill of his drink (Jenn followed suit with a much lesser amount and found it to indeed be Scotch) before taking off those semi-shading sunglasses of his and looking her right in the eyes. Despite his reputation as a playboy and a bit of a textbook example of a walking male chauvinist, his eyes never once scoped her out. She was professional, so thus he was professional. Natasha had filled Jenn in on a little bit on how the lawyer could tell how Tony saw her by how he acted. If he flirted, he only saw her as a toy. If he was dismissive, it meant he didn't respect her. If he acted aloof, it meant he was interested in what the person had to say.

If he looked her in the eye, Jenn was told that she would have Tony's full and undivided attention and intelligence. And that was the scary one.

"We'd… like to hire you. Legal council, expertise, the whole shebang," Tony began as he stood at the bar, leaning on it with his hands as he looked at her in the eye, "but when I say this is going to be unlike any other job or employ anyone's ever dealt with, I'm really not kidding." There was another drink.

"We as in the Avengers as a group, as individuals, or both?" Jenn asked, her tone frank.

"All the above. Probably then some." The billionaire nodded. "News has got a nice Disney story running about us, making us look good. Good press means most aren't out for blood or for our heads, but there are those who certainly are. Ranging from your loony bin-types who want their fifteen minutes of fame and change in their pocket to very scary people that wouldn't be afraid to put a man on a slab and experiment on him to create another Captain America or Hulk." Another drink. "Then there's various governments, political parties, municipalities, businesses, and a whole slue of people with money and power that want a slice of the pie and have a means to get that slice, God help us all." Jenn watched as Tony wrestled with something internally. "Won't lie; we're a mess individually, and six messes in a padded room. Bruce might have mentioned that we needed an anchor, someone _normal_ to keep us grounded, someone to be the glue that holds this whole thing," the billionaire waved his glass around in a circle to indicate the Tower and the Avengers, "functional. We've got four Alpha Males that like to throw the weight around, one that no one wants to become an Alpha Male, and a woman that could kill us all in our sleep if necessary she's that scary good. And we were slapped together at the last minute on the doorstep to a cosmic invasion involving a God, an alien race, and…" Those eyes, the ones with the shadows and bags under them got even more haunted.

"There was something on the other side of that hole, wasn't there?" Jenn asked, feeling ice water run through her veins. "Something that makes you _know_ that the Avengers are needed." This certainly wasn't something covered by the news about the world's 'mightiest' heroes.

There was a long pause.

"Yes." Tony Stark replied, looking… tired. "I delivered a nuke thinking it would hurt them, force them back. There was an _armada_ on the other side, ships and Leviathans and things that didn't make it to Earth just… _waiting_ to come in." The billionaire sagged, the bar supporting the weight he carried on his shoulders, that burden of knowledge. "I haven't told anyone about that. Not yet, at least." Jenn had highlighted the true threat, more than just the Battle of New York. There had been a full _force_ ready to invade Earth, but only a small amount had come in. With the turning off of whatever had caused that hole in the sky to appear, the portal shutdown, the doorway was closed. The delivery of a _nuclear_ device had even hurt that force, no doubt, possibly sending them back to regroup and to the drawing board.

The immediate threat was over. The overall threat was not.

_These… are our guardians, our protectors,_ Jenn thought to herself, mulling it over. Yes, that was what everyone else thought, but they only thought of the event that was the Battle of New York. There were questions out there, of course, of what _if_ another attack happened; who, what, when, where, why, that whole thing. But Tony _knew_ it wasn't a matter of if, but when. He had seen it with his own eyes, and that knowledge was likely the reason why he looked so terrible on the inside. They had gotten lucky, pure and simple. There had been six people that had been able to not only hold back an invasion, but able to drive them back, collapsing the means for them to invade. Despite the losses and the destruction, Earth had gotten off _light_, and ridiculously so. One only needed to look at the history of warfare to see how damaging an invasion could be. But Tony wasn't a fool; if the Chitauri could do it once, they could do it again; possibly anytime, possibly anywhere. And _when_ that happened?

Earth wasn't ready. Earth… was in danger.

_These six people need help_, the lawyer realized, knowing this was more than just about some legal defense, subpoenas and lawsuits. Those were distractions, and the world didn't want the Avengers distracted. It was as the Iron Man had said; they were six people brought together at the last minute in a final ditch effort to stop something terrible. Each one of them was magnificent in their own right, but they might also have magnificent problems or flaws to hamper them. _When the world needed them, they were here._

_Who is here for them when they need _us?

"We're going to need a lot of work done if we want you guys at your best." Walters took a small sip of her Scotch, hosting Tony's eyes. "I'll look over the legal aspects and hit that front like a ton of bricks, and then I'll probably make suggestions on how to avoid any future legal repercussions to the Avengers as an organization to where at least it doesn't affect Stark Industries as a company. Probably make a Non-Profit Organization out of it where donations and charity are accepted and people who work 'for' the Avengers Initiative are considered employees, and that protects companies and contributors that invest in said NPO… like Stark Industries. Off the top of my head, I'm guess you don't really have anyone to run the day-to-day affairs that you can publicly admit to, or you have someone that probably _shouldn't_ because they are affiliated with another organization that would make both party and company liable… such as Pepper Pots." Tony winced at that; evidently, that was exactly what was happening. "I'm going to take the job, but not for the reasons you think. I might be a lawyer, but I'm the daughter of a Sheriff, too. I know what it means when you're that thin line between civility and anarchy, when you work a job that some people respect and some people hate. Cops are protected by the governments they serve because they are the legal authority to execute and prosecute laws. Right now, I think you guys are a little hands-off, but someone sooner or later is going to get the thought in their head that you are somehow obtainable or without supervision. Putting someone on top that gives oversight will help eliminate some of those issues."

"All good points." Tony sighed again, draining his Scotch. "Y'know… I like Bruce. It's not often that I get to talk to someone who understands me, a ceaseless mind that can't help but look at something and say _I can do better than that_." Jenn smiled faintly at that, knowing exactly what Stark meant. "When he saw your name, it was like… a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day for him. Wouldn't shut up about you and all that you do. I looked you up and yeah, I was pretty impressed. In some ways, you're like me and Bruce, ceaseless and innovating, not content with the same-old same-old. A multi-devotion lawyer covering several aspects of the law at your age is damn near unheard of. I know, I looked. I think half the reason Bruce keeps it together so well is he _knew_ that there was someone out there looking out for him, someone he didn't want to lose their respect. That person was you, Jenn; a normal woman who survived the Hulk… how many times?"

"Four." Jenn whispered, closing her eyes. She could remember each and every single time, standing before a green-skinned titan of rage and aggression, doing everything in _her_ power to keep both Bruce _and_ the Hulk safe.

"I can't even imagine. And I've seen him up-close." The billionaire shuttered a little at the memory. "Point is, you've got the goods where it counts, and what we need. You're right, we need someone who can look out for our interests, and it's not a bad idea to have a manager that gives us a little oversight and stability. Someone non-military would probably be better so that way we don't look like a superpowered strike force ready to eradicate whoever might just be in the way." It was almost American to think that way, where the military was, in fact, overseen by civilians; Jenn couldn't recall of a Secretary of Defense that was prior military off the top of her despite all of the Pentagon jobs being exclusively military posts. Most of the western world thought that way now, and though it could sometimes seem silly to have some lifelong politician or political party member in charge of such an arsenal, the concept was to introduce enough of a sense of morality or compassion to the decision-making process where a man didn't immediately agree to war or a dangerous scenario out-of-hand. While such figures might not be experts in military matters, the idea was to provide both oversight and direction; a manager, if one got right down to it.

"I think creating a Non-Profit Entity is a good start, especially since a great many states has a torts cap pertaining to NPO's, which is something I think will be a good idea." Jenn pointed out, having done more than a few torts cases, or lawsuits for personal damages, generally involving medical claims but really covering anyone that had suffered harm from a wrongful act. Technically, the Avengers _could_ be sued for torts involving the Battle of New York; six people had been a little less-than-discriminate in the means of protecting the city, and no doubt there was _some_ collateral damage from big green fists, lightning bolts, repulsor blasts, and anyone struck from Chitarui weapons fire or downed Leviathans. "Probably won't cover the Battle, but I can start making groundwork for that claiming the Emergency Relief Act, as both the Mayor and the Governor announced the event as a threat of national security, and legally signed the National Disaster Clause. New York State might balk, but they will have to legally protect you as you _did_ act under authority even if you aren't a governmental organization. Technically, anyone with the ability to act or help that has done so falls under that clause. That will help mitigate most of the pettier lawsuits and help tackle the bigger ones. That will also set me up time to go to the Attorney General and the Supreme Court to tackle some of the heavyweight opponents, most likely the insurance companies. Do you know if those have been covered yet? Public, private, and city?"

"I… don't know." Tony winced. Most people probably didn't know that _cities_ had insurance; not just the businesses and buildings, but the actual municipality itself. It harken back to the days of World War II, when cities were razed by bombs and warfare, and the countries had to rebuild with their own money with no outside assistance, to include reparations. That was what France had done to Imperial Germany in World War I, and it was practically the invite that created the National Socialist Party of Germany, a group of men suffering a huge recession with weak leaders being trampled on by other European countries. "Lawsuits aren't our only anchor. There's a few assault charges in Russia for Nat, something about Russian Army mob thugs. I wasn't interested in the details." That had Jenn snort. "Clint's… wanted for murder in Germany. That's going to be the hard one, as he did kill a venerated scientist and pried out his eyeball while being mind-controlled by Loki. I'm not making that up." _Holy shit._ "Collectively, we're being sued for probably half a _billion_ dollars in damages with the expectation of that tripling or so, and the insurance companies are leading the charge on that one."

"No surprises there." Jenn didn't doubt the insurance companies would claim the 'Act of God' clause to snub that bill. Well, two Gods were involved, weren't they? Did that double the clause or did Thor and Loki cancel each other out?

"Oh! And Thor's being sued for _pseudoapotheosis_ in Norway. That should be fun." It took Walters a moment to figure out what _pseudoapotheosis_ meant.

"Someone… is suing the Prince of Asgard and the Son of Odin… as a _false God_?" The lawyer felt a distinct chill in her blood at that one.

"Yeah. Have fun with that one." Tony said breezily, completely brushing off the absolute _disaster_ that would be.

Jenn looked at Tony as he finished his Scotch, and all she could see was the fact that these six people, five men and one woman, were in heaps of trouble. _Earth's Mightiest Heroes_ was what most newspapers and shows called them, but the lawyer saw something else; six people swamped with a host of trouble barraging them at all sides. She remembered something similar with Bruce, surrounded by the United States Army, the California State Police, the San Bernardino County Sheriff's Department, and several other judicial agencies, neither herself nor her cousin able to get the time to sit down and actually _solve_ their issues due to the dragnet that Major General Thaddeus 'Thunderbolt' Ross had for 'the monster'. In that, Bruce had been made the threat, and it had almost cost her cousin his freedom. What would happen to the Avengers if they were too busy fighting petty self-appointed enemies in the form of legal teams and governmental bullshit and missed the big threats? They needed someone who could handle those things; several someones, honestly.

This was going to be a lot more than just a lawyering gig.

"So… where do we start?"

Tony looked at her for a long time, assessing her.

"Do you know what you're signing up for?"

"Did you when you found yourself in a showdown with an alien God?" Jenn asked back with a smile that never touched her eyes. "Earth needs you. And you need someone to keep you from drowning. I'm in, Tony. Besides… I'm family. Sometimes nepotism has its uses."

"_Touche_." The billionaire replied as he refilled both of their glasses before raising it for a toast and to click glasses together; an old-fashion agreement settled. "You're hired."

They touched glasses, and this time Jenn didn't mind taking a gulp of expensive Scotch.

* * *

Author's Notes: Jennifer Walters/She-Hulk was the last character that Stan Lee created for a period of about twelve years, writing the first issue that was released in February 1980. Surprisingly enough, this was due to _two_ television shows; the TV version of _The Incredible Hulk_ (which lasted about 5 years/seasons and was very popular) and then _The Bionic Woman_ (which was the fem version of _The Six Million Dollar Man_). Like many of the female superheroes one sees, they are the female counterparts to an original male superhero (like Jessica Drew/Spider-Woman to Peter Parker/Spider-Man, created so DC or someone else wouldn't take the name), or the more blatant recastings (Kate Bishop/Hawkeye as the newer version of Clint Barton/Hawkeye when they 'retired' him). She-Hulk still holds the Marvel record for longest solo title of a superheroine, and I believe is second only to Wonder Woman for the record overall.

I wanted to make Tony Stark _Tony Stark_; something in between a very wealthy person, a playboy, a tech guru, a trendsetter, a _liaise faire_ attitude, and someone with all the toys. Finding a way to actually _describe_ this mythical being wasn't the easiest to do, as there really isn't any real world examples save for perhaps (OMFG) Elon Musk, who founded Tesla, SpaceX, , NeuraLink, and OpenAI. Guy's with authors, actresses, and musicians, pisses off politicians, is into green energy. I hope to God he isn't shoved into a cave for three months with a box of scraps. It would almost be funny to do a story as Elon Musk as _Iron Man_, probably our closest real-life analogue. That's… a scary thought.

_Apothesis_ means 'to elevate into Godhood' or 'to deify'. 'Theo' is the Greek term for 'Godhood' or 'Godlike-being' (such as the term 'Theology', or religious studies that most pastors go through nowadays), and 'Apo' roughly translates 'to make' or 'create' from the Roman word 'Apolate'.


	4. The New Hire, IV

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, May 21, 2012**

_**For Stan**_

_+10 Days after the Battle of New York_

There was an alarm, and Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., woke up in a strange bed in a strange room to the beginning of a strange, strange life.

Jenn found herself looking up to a strange ceiling, one that wasn't covered with gypsum board drywall with stucco pattering painted over it that all ceilings seemed deemed to have. She looked to her left to find herself looking out of strange windows showing a strange skyline with the addition of a strange bedside table with a strange sort of alarm clock where there was no physical device; the blue-lit numbers seemed to come from he table itself, hovering over the black surface… holographically? Her gaze went from he left to the wall in front of the strange bed to find a strange plasma screen television much larger than the one she had at home connected to the wall with no wires hanging from it or plugging it into any electrical outlet. She looked to her right to see a strange door leading from her room and the empty right-hand side of the bed, only slightly mussed from her sleep.

"Probably should have called Mom and asked her if I could have a sleepover at a boy's house." The lawyer grumped sleepily as she kicked off the satin sheets and strange comforter that certainly didn't feel like it was made out of cotton and stuffing; it was slimmer, and reflected heat back onto the slumbering person.

The boy's house in question was none other than Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark. This was one of his guest rooms in Stark/Avengers Tower.

Jenn got out of bed, and admitted that the mattress that she had been sleeping on had been _divine_, better than the Sleep Number System she had forked over as a reward for herself for opening her own practice eight years prior. God only knew what the bed and mattress even were, but considered that Tony Stark had it in a guest room for anyone sleeping over (that didn't tumble into _his_ bed), then chances were it wasn't something one would buy at Wal-Mart or a commercial furniture store. Whatever rich people slept on, that's likely what she had been sleeping on. And then there was the view of the New York City skyline that stood right outside her full-sized wall-to-wall window where a majority of it had been frosted for privacy, but could be selected to be unfrosted for a complete and utterly uninterrupted view of the city that was, for her, fifteen feet wide and perhaps ten feet tall.

_Dear God in Heaven, what the hell did I just wake up to? Oh, yes, my so-called life,_ the thirty-two year old woman thought to herself with a snort as she stood up in what amounted to what clothes she had wore the day before that could be gotten away with for sleeping; a undershirt and her panties. She hadn't been expecting to have such a quick change-of-pace as what happened the previous day, but she knew she had made the right choice as Jenn went to the window.

"Um, clear window?" Jenn called out like Tony had the night before to show her that Stark Tower had some sort of computer-response control system unlike anything she had ever heard of before. But she suspected that perhaps really rich people would have a voice-controlled operating system that likely acted as a security system, too. Didn't Major Maria Hill suggest there was something that would blow her mind? That was pretty mind-blowing; technology straight from science-fiction movies! The white-opaqueness faded away to give her that unrestricted view of New York City, the grandest city in the world with a population of just over eight million, representing something like five hundred square miles of real estate going North, South, East, West… and upward on the y-axis. But she saw the damages to, what had happened to Midtown during the Attack now ten days prior. She could see a little bit of Time Square, that world-famous intersection, a few signs of construction and clean-up going on there to open it back up first while the damage got worse the closer to Stark Tower it got. Jenn could see the checkpoints and the closed streets to keep people from infiltrating and stealing what the news called 'ChiTech' (it did sound better than 'alien tech' or 'space tech'), the many points of construction, clean-up, and debris removal going on. She remembered seeing the fabricated or spraypainted markers of those who had died upon the walls of buildings, either workers or loved ones making sure _someone_ knew. For a brief moment of time, the entire world held its breath as this very location became the absolute most important place in the history of Mankind; First Contact… and not of the close encounter or gentle kind, either.

There had been lives down there that had been radically altered forever with the Invasion… and far too many snuffed out. She had gotten lucky.

Jenn knew why she had agreed to this, believed in it. But the view was one she needed to make sure that she was making the right choices for the right reasons.

"Whole world is out there, Jenn." The Esquire said to herself softly as she looked out into the skyline, seeing New York in a way that generally was reserved for high-rise condos, top-level executives on top of very tall buildings, and helicopter pilots. Oh, and people that could in fact fly. "People are reeling, they want answers, but they aren't ready for the full truth." She doubted she was ready for the full truth, but someone needed to know. "This is just the beginning, and it's going to get worse."

_People are like that, honey,_ her father's words came to her during an incident nearly twenty years prior, Sheriff Morris Walters having answered his daughters' question when there had been heavy rioting in South Central in the early Nineties, sparked by the beating of a black man by the Los Angeles Police Department and causing massive riots and destruction. _We're passionate, we're excitable, and sometimes we're a mite hard to control or contain. But you'll find in the worst of situations that there'll be reasons to reach in through all the rough bits to find that that one thing that's worth it and cherish it. _Jenn found herself looking down at the devastation of Midtown, seeing where hundreds of thousands worked and lived, normal people with normal lives that were brutally interrupted by a princely alien God who wished to conquer Mankind in a bid of global domination… and the six people who had been shoved together and told to stop it.

_They need me, Dad, especially Bruce,_ Jenn smiled as she thought of her cousin, the boy she had looked up to as a little girl, having held him in his worst days as both boy and man. Something dark lived within him, but she had found that one thing that was worth it and held onto it dearly, seeing the monster in his full terrible glory and embracing it just as she would Bruce, risking her life for others that terrible, terrible day. She had been right; the Hulk _was_ Bruce, and that thing of rage and pain had recognized her, even in his awful glory. She had held the Hulk and promised that she would be there for him, that he was her family.

And the monster had held her, oh so gently and tenderly. The Hulk had cried. Monsters didn't cry; _people_ cried.

That was how she survived the Hulk, she fought him with love.

"And that's your answer. Love." Jenn smiled as she realized that she was standing in front of a very large window rocking out in a simple shirt and her panties. "Um, previous setting, please?" Did she just say please to a computer? Was she going to thank the coffee maker next? Feeling better about her choice, Jenn turned to look at her business suit that had been placed upon the chair, what she had worn the day before. If she was going to stay here, she was going to have to make some arrangements for Walters and Associates. And get some clothes and place to live.

"Welcome to the first weird day of the rest of your very strange life, Jenn." The lawyer said to no one in particular as she went to get dressed, feeling the need to get in a good solid breakfast for a Monday unlike any other.

* * *

Doctor Robert Bruce Banner was already hard at work at the so-called 'breakfast' table when in walked his cousin, Jennifer Walters, wearing the same suit she had yesterday, likely her only clothes at the moment. Bruce was working on one of Tony Stark's Holographic Interface Devices that came from a tablet, projecting over the breakfast table in a two foot by two foot projection that had motion-capture software to log in hand and finger placement to do away with clunky things like _keyboards and monitors_ (Tony's words), Jenn already smiling as she saw him there at the table with a small plate of microwaved breakfast sandwiches that he had hardly touched yet. He was already on his third cup of decaffeinated coffee, mostly because he liked the flavor even if he couldn't drink the real deal anymore.

"Morning, Bruce." Jeen moved up to him to give him a quick hug where he sat, pulling away and looking at the holographic image displaying information pertaining to the coordination for the clean-up and reconstruction efforts for Midtown while getting information about recent 'discoveries' of found persons ten days after the Attack. Thankfully, most everyone who had been designated as being in Midtown had been found, but there was a list of about a hundred or so missing persons that had yet to be located. Likely there might be dozen more with homeless persons no one had a record on. But Bruce was making sure that families were reconnected, even if only for their surviving family members to get the remains and closure they would surely need. "Wow, damn. That's… well beyond impressive. Where does he get all of those wonderful toys?"

"Did you just make a _Batman_ reference?" Bruce looked to his cousin with a smile, making him snort at the line originally delivered by Jack Nickolson.

"And do not tell me _that_ is breakfast!" She admittedly admonished him, taking a look at his somewhat-cooled breakfast. "That's plaque heart attack in a microwave, Bruce. Take a bite and you can feel your arteries clogging up!" Ah yes, there she was, his cousin in her full and terrible glory; the Southern Californian woman who wasn't afraid to rock it out in her bikini on a beach somewhere to soak some rays and male attention. What was it that she once told him; _a good-looking woman will be a successful woman, and a successful woman remains good-looking_? He hated to admit to it, but Jenn had a point. Even in the depths of the wringer being a Junior Associate for the Law Office of Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway, Jenn had been a bit of a health nut, knowing that a fat or flabby female didn't make it nearly as far as their slimmer, sexier-looking counterparts. While Jenn didn't flout, she wasn't an idiot either; she was intent to succeed, and she dedicated herself to making it in the proper way. Besides, everyone craved a little bit of _that_ attention. Humans had evolved for it, after all. "I'm making you a real breakfast. Not death from a wrapper."

"Jenn…" Bruce was about to say when he saw the look of feminine wrath coming out of its shell, showing the Doctor why his cousin was a very good lawyer; she didn't take shit from anybody. "I… would appreciate it."

"Good boy." She patted his cheek to go along with it as she scooped up the plate and mostly-empty coffee with ease, dumping the coffee into the sink and finding the trash disposal to get rid of the two Egg McSomething look-alike sandwiches, setting the small plate in the sink as she went to the Ultralux Refrigerator that was a good deal beyond state-of-the-art, his cousin hesitating before touching it as she recognized the differences in what was a standard refrigerator and the stainless-steel one that was twice as wide as a model one could find in a Home Depot or Lowe's complete with an ice chest drawer underneath the extra-wide double doors. When she opened it, she scoffed. "Jesus, you could stuff a body in this sucker and have room for leftovers." That amused the physicist, having somewhat thought the same thing himself when he first opened it, realizing that the fridge was a fair deal deeper than most he had ever seen. There were industrial refrigerators in chemistry labs and medical departments that were about the same size, but certainly didn't have a freezer that was big enough to fit a cooler inside. "Makes me wonder… who gets Tony's groceries? Is there some poor assistant running out there with the weirdest grocery list in existence going to Costco?"

"Actually, it's all ordered on-line and delivered by some company that caters to such things. It comes in big Styrofoam boxes that have little electric coolers for freshness." Yeah, Bruce had been boggled at that when the delivery came via a couple of SHIELD Agents and a dolly to carry the food into the Penthouse. He strongly doubted that Tony did the ordering. Probably JARVIS, but he wasn't sure if Jenn was even aware of the Natural-Language Automated Matrix Program that most people would get really nervous when someone uttered the magical words '_artificial intelligence_'. It was probably better to let Agent Maria Hill explain things as there was a good deal of paperwork for his cousin to go through if she were going to be in the thick of things. Speaking of… "Jenn?"

"Yeah, Bruce?" The lawyer had already rescued a carton of eggs and a few peeled potatoes while looking through the stainless-steel drawers of the kitchen, likely for a grater to make scrambled eggs and hashbrowns like… like she and her mom use to do together when they were kids. That brought a smile to his face. He hadn't thought of that in years. Jenn was a natural in the strange kitchen, having already put the empty mug into the Keruig and selecting decaf and was grating potatoes into a plate.

"You're… staying?" The hope in his voice was obvious. Having Jenn here… God, it was like the burden had lifted slightly, just enough to be noticeable. For him, it was an enormity of relief. There had only been one person in the entire world to stand toe-to-toe with _the other guy_ without fear or reservation, to look the Hulk in the eye and _recognize_. Yes, Betsy had come to accept him after his visit to Culvert University after a few days, but he remembered the look of shock and horror after his first transformation, seeing the monster that laid within.

Jenn had held him when he couldn't control it that first time in front of her, Bruce pleading for her to run. Instead, she had faced the monster head-on with nothing but love and understanding.

The other guy… he knew. Despite the rage and pain, Bruce could tell he knew, that he recognized Jenn for what she was; family.

Four times Jennifer Walters had stood to face the Hulk and survived. Most tried with guns, explosives, helicopters, even tanks. But Jenn was armed with more powerful weapons.

Love. Respect. Understanding. God why couldn't there be more people like her?

"Of course I'm staying, Bruce." Jenn replied with a smile, pulling out a frying pan and hunting down for some cooking oil. "You guys did something incredible that day. Beyond the scope of anything I can think of except perhaps the Normandy Invasion, maybe that Berlin Air Lift thing back in the Fifties where we practically were feeding the entirety of West Berlin." Bruce had forgotten about that, _Operation: Planefare_, when the Soviets had closed down the only train allowed into West Berlin to make the democratic side fall to communism by starving them out. For something like a year and a half, England and America had flown hundreds of planes a day into West Berlin to keep the people fed, warm, and clothed. Those had been different times, though the East/West thing had never really healed. Well, perhaps with the knowledge of the Chitauri, perhaps some political fences could be mended. "I'm not going to lie, I think you guys need the help."

"We do." Bruce admitted as Jenn finally found some cooking oil after setting the prying pan that had probably never been used before and warming up the stove before adding the oil, cracking at least five eggs and dropping their contents minus the shells into the pan. "It was hit the ground running at first, and then just a series of small disasters and bickering until the Battle itself. I… changed on the Helicarrier." Admitting to that was a painful thing, but one that needed to be done. Jenn looked at him for a moment.

"…Helicarrier? Like an aircraft carrier for helicopters?"

"Um…" Crap, Bruce had totally forgotten that no one actually knew of the SHIELD Helicarrier known as the _ACVN-64_, known as the _Constellation_. It resembled a normal nuclear-powered aircraft carrier until it took flight, and then had a thousand cameras on the top of it to 'photograph' the sky above it and them imagers below it to 'cloak' it with an optical illusion for those on the ground. When it had been attacked by Clinton Barton and some of his purloined forces for Loki, the Helicarrier had to take to the water so it wouldn't crash on land, still looking like an aircraft carrier, if a battered one thanks to a damaged aerial rotor, some nifty arrows… and himself. Thankfully, he hadn't actually done that much damage to the Helicarrier when it was in the sky thanks to a very brave pilot in an F-35 Lightning II Fighter Aircraft firing at the Hulk to draw him away from the crippled ship. "We'll go with that for now." Bruce winced. The sooner Jenn was in the know, the better. He did need to talk to someone, and while the others were good, Jennifer Walters had _always_ been in his corner, always understood. He could tell her everything a piece at a time and she would be there for him, never judging, letting him unburden his soul. Even Bruce knew he needed it. "But really we were together just at the last minute, and then rescue and reconstruction. We need… something, to keep this together, to keep us going. I know Tony hasn't said it, but he flew into that portal with a nuke strapped on his back to hit whatever was on the other side. Jenn, he hasn't said _a single word_ to anyone about what he saw, but I can imagine.

"I think he saw an armada up there." Bruce said softly. "An invasion force ready to conquer Earth for… whatever reason. I don't believe Loki for a second in thinking this was for him to get a throne. Someone sent him right for… an object of great power that was the catalyst for the portal." Bruce wasn't about to mention the word _Tesseract_. "It wasn't a location that was advertised either, Jenn. I'm talking that warehouse in _The Raiders of the Lost Ark _kind of thing where they can bury it under a mountain if necessary. That's how I understood it. But Loki shows up right in front of it, like he knew right where it was. One of the smartest men on the planet, Doctor Erik Selvig, was working on it for over a year and barely understood it. Loki knew what it was, what it could do, and practically spoon-fed how to create an trans-space portal to connect right where the Chitauri were to right above this very Tower. No one knows how, not even Thor. That's… scared us into staying together, but this isn't exactly a functional family."

"Tony said something along the same lines about what was on the other side." The lawyer admitted as she took a spatula and began scraping the eggs to scramble them. It didn't really surprise that Tony would open up a little with Jenn; Jenn was a lawyer who could pick out facts and get people to talk with her with ease, and Tony had a weakness for pretty women, which his cousin certainly was. "I'm staying because we need you, and you need someone to help you pick up the pieces and put you all back together again. Team Mom, I guess." That had Bruce snort as Jenn slipped him his mug of coffee, going back to the pan to scramble the eggs some more. "Y'know, I always wonder how Dad did it. Being a cop." Bruce took a sip of his coffee, remembering well Uncle Morris, a man he _wished_ could have been his father. Still, Uncle Morris and Aunt Elaine Walters had been good-natured people that had taken in their grieving nephew after his father had killed his mother in a jealous rage, Aunt Elaine having to bury her sister and take in her son. They really had done their very best to make him feel like a son, and for that he was forever grateful. "All that stress and sorrow, not bringing it home. I guess… it was us, you know? He had a bright part in his life that made it worth it, and he focused on that."

"How is he?" The Doctor asked quietly. He hadn't spoken to Uncle Morris since before _the incident_. He found out that Aunt Elaine had passed away a short time after due to cancer, Jenn losing her mother a year after Bruce had to run to keep everyone else safe from him.

"He's… lonely." Jenn grimaced as she began scraping up the eggs and putting them on a plate before delivering them to him. "I'm running a practice ten to eleven hours a day, and Mom passed away back in '05. You… knew of that?" Bruce nodded, indicating that he had. He had completely missed the illness and funeral, never getting a chance to say goodbye to the woman that had helped raise him when his own mother had been murdered by his father. He never got a chance to say goodbye to her, either. "Hey, she knew why." That had the Doctor's attention as he pulled away from his emotions and looked at his cousin. "I told her what happened to you, what _really_ happened. She knew that you would have been right there if it were possible and the Army wouldn't have invaded the damn hospital to get their grubby hands on you. I said our goodbyes for the both of us, and she knew it. She… she was very proud of you, Bruce. Not just of your accomplishments, but the man you became. Including afterwards. She's a cop's wife; she knows what it means to take the hard path to make the right decision. We all did. You always had our support and praise, before and after."

"Could… I call him?" He had no idea how that conversation would go. He had no idea how he would handle it.

"I wasn't the only one to recognize the man who saved New York. _Twice_." Walters smiled as she dished him up his eggs, setting the plate in front of him with a fork already on it before returning to the pan to make hashbrowns. "Hey! Whatever happened to that other one? What did they call him? Abomination?"

"Emil Blonsky. And the… shit." Bruce hadn't really thought of it, being on the run and making his way to Calcutta to get as far away from America as possible. Even Thaddeus Ross wouldn't be able to easily enter India, considering how good their intelligence service was.

"Army?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck." Jenn was frying the hashbrowns, but she was frowning. "Wish there was a way we could find out if he's buried in that mountain of yours or if they're doing experiments to make more Goddamn killing machines." His cousin had always been a bit of a pacifist, but that didn't mean she didn't believe in doing the right thing when it was necessary. Thankfully, she knew the difference when to promote mercy… and then when to promote justice. Bruce didn't doubt that if Jenn ever got her hands on General Ross? There likely _wouldn't_ be a courtroom involved.

"Hey, Jenn?" Banner winced as he began eating his eggs. Shit, he was going to have to say _something_. "After the paperwork with Hill? Bring it up to her. I'm not big on… what they are," that was about as close as he could mention the word _SHIELD_, "but I would have to say that Maria and her boss," again, he wasn't about to mention the word _FURY_, "are probably the two best candidates for the positions that they are in. Hardcore, dedicated, smart, know when to monitor and when to pull the trigger. They could have snatched me up or tried, but instead they kept their distance and kept people off my trail. I saw the evidence that proves some of it. They were smart enough to know that I'm a threat when threatened, and they respected it. That… means a lot to me." That gave him time to try and control what was inside of him, as well as finding good works to do in places that most of the Western World had forgotten. He was pretty much a Good Samaritan Doctor that had certainly boned up on his medical even if he wasn't an MD, doing the Doctors-Without-Borders program to help out others while going to remote places in the world anonymously. That work had been fulfilling, a balm to his tortured soul, helping those in need. Bruce wonder if that translated to the _other guy_, who had defended people in trouble in the past, mainly in Harlem and Midtown, but there had been the incident in Belize when guerrillas had gone to hit up the DWB program for its medicine for themselves as oppose to being distributed to those in need, villagers with diphtheria. Those assault weapon-armed men had been smashed and pulverized… and not one innocent person had been hurt.

That was when Bruce realized that the _other guy_ was really just a dark reflection of him, not an evil side.

"Hey, we're going to make it work. Together, right?" Jenn looked to him and smiled as she continued cooking him hashbrowns, and for a brief moment, Bruce felt like he was back in those days when he was living with the Walters, Jenn just a young girl about to hit the young woman stage as she learned to cook along with her mother, and Bruce being the food connoisseur guinea pig. He hadn't minded at all, seeing mother and daughter cooking and spending time together, and being a part of it, too. Hell, Uncle Morris had done the same with him even if they hadn't had the same interests, letting Bruce pick something for them to do one weekend and then his Uncle picking something for the next weekend so that… so that he felt like a son _should_.

He found himself blinking away a tear. No matter what had happened to him… he always had his family.

"I smell breakfast."

The Doctor discretely wiped the tear as the sound of Anthony Edward Stark coming into the kitchen, wearing a white t-shirt (with his arc reactor rather apparent from the shape of it pressing against the cloth, not to mention the central piece glowing) and a pair of boxer shorts that hilariously had Iron Man helmets on it.

"Well, despite what the media thinks, you do wake up before noon." Jenn coined as she started scraping hashbrowns onto another plate and delivering it to Bruce, rapping Tony's knuckles when he tried to sneak in a bite. "Ah! You're next. Coffee or something un-American?"

"I have a sports bottle in the fridge with my mix." Stark replied as Bruce tried not to wince; whatever Tony drank smelled _horrible_ and probably tasted worse. Suprisingly, it was suppose to be healthy, but even Captain Steve Rogers steered clear of it after an experimental sip after being explained what a health supplement was. Jenn rescued the steel bottle from the fridge and set it in front of Tony. "Wait, you actually cook?"

"This is a freebie. Next time I'm charging my hourly rates." Walters quipped, getting both Bruce and Tony to chuckle at that. Thank God Jenn had a sense of humor and a sharp wit as she began to crack some more eggs. "You both look like you could use some TLC. I know reconstruction and getting things back in order is important, but don't forget to take time for yourselves as well. No one does well as a burn out."

"Team Mom." Bruce told Tony, who snorted.

"Wait… I'll tell you what, Tony. Make a trade?" The Esquire was already starting to scramble the eggs as she looked over to the man sitting at the island table. "I'll seriously cook you some SoCal Surf and Turf for dinner if you do something in return." There was a smile there.

"Don't make her smile. You won't like her when she smiles." Bruce warned, but it was already too late. Tony sensed something, and like the man he was, jumped on it.

"Name it."

"I heard that you hacked into the Pentagon's mainframe when you were in MIT at 16, so cell phones and cellular networks shouldn't be that much of a problem, right?"

_Oh no, don't do what I think you're about to do, Jenn…_

"Child's play. What do you want?" Tony was _way_ too intrigued now.

"Turn everyone's ringtone and text notification to a particular tune." Jenn smirked as she then delivered the tune in question, whistling a four-bar tune that had become rather popular recently thanks to a movie less than two months old about a female archer in a deadly competition. Stark's mouth dropped and hung open for a good five seconds as his eyes went to Bruce, then to Jenn, and then back to the Doctor.

"Oh, I'm so doing it. Robin Hood is going to flip his _shit_ when it starts happening more than once." Tony was already pulling out his cell phone, which wasn't like any other cell phone in existence (no surprise, there). "When he figures out who did it, I'm completely blaming you while jumping in my suit so I don't get a feathered shaft in my ass cheek."

"Could I borrow Captain America's shield, too?" The Esquire asked innocently. Bruce couldn't help it; he began to laugh.

They were all heading straight for the loony bin. And he found himself okay with that.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, I did reference the Rodney King Riots (or South Central Riots of '92, I don't know the official name) that utterly perplexed me as a kid. While the incident itself was never really fully _truthfully_ explained (I even looked it up to see if it had differences twenty plus years later), the subsequent actions were mind-boggling. I still don't feel that what happened was completely in the right (taking down a suspect with non-lethal measures that is acting aggressively is one thing, beating them while their on the ground is most certainly something else), but the whole situation was blown way out of proportion by the media, who is suppose to report _the truth_, not merely _the news_. Then again, despite what people might think/feel about American Law Enforcement, we still have the nicest, likely most professional police force in the world.

There are, in fact, companies on-line you can order from, and not just the health food ones you see on infomercials. I use to deliver stuff for UPS as a side gig, and remember people ordering the whole Christmas Dinner shebang (and I mean the turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes… just take off the lid and cook!) from a few companies that specialized in such things. So I made the thought of what some actor or like Mark Zuckerberg would do for groceries; you certainly don't see the owner of Facebook stepping into a Kroger or a Publix to get bread, do you? Either he has some grocery picker-upper as an employment opportunity… or orders it from some company (like Whole Foods) who delivers it right to the mansion, and probably right to the fridge. I see that happening, and wanted to add it to show the kind of world Tony (and the Avengers) live in. Tony Stark is, after all, the American Prince. Just think of what Kings use to do or have and that's kind of the world I want this Tony Stark to live in; the modern royalty. IIRC, his grandfather was a man of note and wealth as well, and I think one of the pioneers of automotives or planes in the comic books.

Operation Planefare: A very real operation that is, in fact, as I described; England and America feeding West Berlin when the Soviets closed down the train that kept the city fed to make Berlin 'united' under East Germany (and Russia). It lasted eighteen months, they had to build another airport (making three), and in its full swing, were landing 1,440 planes a day. That's _one every minute per day, every day for five months_. We did it for free, too, and is likely the most successful campaign ever done that didn't involve bullets, bombs, or atomic weaponry. I suggest looking up the Berlin Airlift up to see what the military and united governments can do in a time a peace and just see the efforts of tens (if not hundreds) of thousands keeping a city free. A great testament to Mankind. Now imagine the logictics of the food going to warehouses, warehouse to loaders, loaders to trucks, trucks to airports, airports to loaders, loaders to plane, plane to airport, unload from plane with loader, loader to truck, truck to warehouse, truck to loader, loader to warehouse, warehouse to distribution, distribution to that German family with two _Kinders_. Magnificent and utterly one of the best moments in the history of mankind, keeping _millions_ fed on small planes alone that could only carry… ten tons, I think. Food, oil, coal, clothes (for winter, which German winters are not for the weak), and even toy drives, candy, some forms of entertainment. Russia gave up when America and England promised to keep it up for however long it was going to take… free of charge. Not one cent was charged to the West German Government or the Principality of Free Berlin. That… is freedom.

As a little bit of a tease, Bruce is probably talking about things he shouldn't to Jenn. This is in reference to Mark Ruffalo, Doctor Banner's actor, who accidentally blurbed and spoiled plot points of one of the Avengers movies (I don't know which one or what, since I don't actually watch TV or go on social media), so I thought this would be cute to have Bruce as a bit of a flabby mouth.

I give the name of the SHIELD Helicarrier as the _ACVN-64_, to mean Aircraft Carrier Vessel, Nuclear, 64th in production. Then I call it the _Constellation_, and this wasn't made up. In the _Avengers_ movie, we can clearly see the large '64' on the side detailing the registry number of the vessel. The CV-64 (Non-Nuclear) is the _Kitty Hawk_-Class Supercarrier, the USS _Constellation_. Laid in 1957 and finished in 1961, it served the US Navy and America until it was decommissioned in 2003, where it sat in Bremerton, Washington alongside its Class sister, the _Kitty Hawk_. My theory is this; SHIELD snapped up a decommissioned carrier, gave it a nuclear power plant, added some airfoils, and that picturized camouflage system. Sadly, the _Constellation_ no longer exists; it was scrapped, and its remaining relative, the illustrious _Kitty Hawk_, is being broken as we speak.

But for now on, the SHIELD Helicarrier will be the _Constellation_, known as _The Connie_. Because I like injecting realism and how the hell does a clandestine organization build a carrier in four years with no one the wiser at a port anyone can technically steer to? I mean, we all saw the Chinese buy that junker Russian Carrier that was like only 2/3 complete (and left to rust for a decade or two) and towed it across the ocean to be its claimed 'ocean hotel' (and no surprise, became the PRC's first aircraft carrier. I expect that it might tip over in a stiff breeze and probably runs its boilers from the tears of political prisoners and the re-educated).

I think Tony hack into something when he was 16 and in MIT (he went when he was 15) was Canon in Earth-199999/MCU, and I think it was something military-related.


	5. The New Hire, V

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, May 21, 2012**

_**For Stan**_

_+10 Days after the Battle of New York_

Author's Note: Tomorrow marks the seventy-fifth anniversary of the largest/greatest military invasion/battle in history; _Operation: Overlord_/D-Day. 1,500 planes, 5,000 ships, and 160,000 service members spanning three countries stormed a French beach in the name of liberation and freedom. That means that an 18-year old Soldier/Sailor/Marine in that battle is now around 93 years old. While there isn't an 'official' number today of the surviving members of the Greatest Generation, of the 16+ _million_ Americans that survived to the War's end, less than half-a-million are alive today, with an estimated 300+ passing away every day.

The Greatest Generation…

_..they're almost gone._

* * *

Major Maria Jacoba Hill entered into the Penthouse of Stark Tower (usually called Avengers Tower now, even by her) at nine a.m. sharp as was her habit ever since the Battle of New York. With the ACVN-64 _Constellation_ in need of some serious repairs thanks to the attack (no one breathed a word on who led it around Special Agent Barton), the Directorate of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logictics Division had temporarily located itself to Stark Tower thanks to the buildings' owner, Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark. Oh, neither Maria or her boss, Colonel Nicholas Joseph Fury, were under the impression that the act was altruistic; Tony didn't exactly trust SHIELD, and that was his way of keeping an eye on them, more or less returning a favor of when they kept and eye on _him_… and everyone else. Still, Stark Tower was likely one of the most technological spots on the planet, and Tony didn't skimp when it came to his so-called 'tech candy', as well as security and throwing money around. While Maria wasn't thrilled at the patron status (or whom said patron was), it could have been a lot worse.

And she was about to be introduced to the newest member of the current rubber room that was now her so-called life.

Perhaps she _should_ have picked acting back in college.

"Well, Major Hill. Good to see you again."

"Miss Walters." Maria found herself locating the woman in question easily enough, though it had been Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., who had walked towards her when she had gotten off the elevator and into the fifth-floor Atrium of the Penthouse, the elevator delivering people right to the 'middle' of the top ten floors of Stark Towers that he kept to himself. Literally, there was no way one could go from the eighty-third floor where Primera Insurance rented the space, to the eighty-fourth floor, which was generally called 'the tenth floor' in reference to the Penthouse. No stairs, no ducting, completely separated and isolated from the building save for the elevator and the fact that it say on top of it. Tony certainly had a paranoia streak about him, and coming from a Operations Manager of a clandestine agency that most people weren't even aware of, that was saying something.

Then again, Tony did get kidnap by terrorists, betrayed by his business partner, assaulted on a speedway by a crazy Russian ex-con, and had one of his suits highjacked to attack him along with about two dozen Hammer Industries war drones. Oh, and then the alien God who used his building to make a beachhead to a planetary invasion. Sometimes paranoia had its uses.

"Tony has already sequestered me a corner office that he promised to be unlike any other." Jenn rolled her eyes a little bit, obviously not having spent any significant amount of time around Tony Stark yet. Tony's idea of friendship was to slather money all over it. "Since the furniture and whatever else he had in mind when he ordered the components have yet to arrive, I figured we could do what needed to get done in one of the spare rooms that have a few comfy chairs and a table without too many interruptions." She then looked up to the ceiling for a second. "That would include the slightly-British digitized overlord."

"I see you've met JARVIS." Maria snorted, again noticing that the thirty-two year old woman in front of her certainly had a wit to her. In a profession that was generally domineered by men and chaired by the worst of them, old fat rich white men, Jenn certainly knew how to command a presence. "As far as tyrannical robotic destroyers go, he's actually quite charming."

"That's because the British make the best villains." The lawyer quipped as Major Hill had to chuckle at that; oh, she could see this one and Tony knocking heads in a one-up contest, and it would be interesting to see who won. Jennifer led her to the room in question by taking a staircase to fourth floor, floors ten through six being the Stark Research and Development Lab that was pretty much the exclusive property of Tony Stark. He had, thankfully, sequestered a portion of the sixth-floor to SHIELD for operations, and used a convenient hole in the side of the building as an impromptu hanger for one of SHIELD's surviving Quinjets as well as the the helipad for one of their helicopters (which had been repainted as 'Stark Industries' so as to not be obvious'). Stark, surprisingly, had been fairly hands-off despite his curiosity and ceaseless mind, but the man was busy helping rebuild Midtown, running Damage Control, fielding the press, and building even more Iron Man suits. Thankfully, here was even a limit to how much the billionaire genius could heap on his plate. The room ended up being a conference room or had the appearance of one, small enough that it was likely meant for a dozen people or less, with glass walls surrounding it that could be hazed for privacy, a glass-top table, and several chairs. It suited their purpose fine, and Maria suspected that Jennifer picked a smaller one on purpose. "Can I scare you up some coffee? I imagine this might be a bit, and I'm going to be needing things if I'm about to tackle what amounts to turning the Avengers into a NPO."

"Which some of that is already in the works." At least the beginning paperwork of it. Tony had talked to her after speaking with Jennifer, and he had mentioned the lawyers' points. Sadly, while SHIELD was a heavy asset for dealing with threats, legal issues wasn't one of them. One couldn't walk into a courtroom to defend an organization that didn't exist on paper, after all. Did they have paralegals and legal expertise? Yes. Could they just send them off to start filing business licenses, filing the necessary paperwork for the organization needed to keep the Avengers both legal and above murky legal waters? No, someone would eventually put things together and it would all come apart at the seams. And that was a bomb the Director and everyone else wanted to avoid, especially after the Battle of New York. They needed an outsider, and Jennifer Walters had been in San Bernardino in Southern California during the Attack, before it, and even right after it. The flight on the Stark Industries Challenger Bombardier 300 was filed properly with the FAA, as well as its passenger list (of one), making it look like an expert was sent and then things sent rolling. It was legal and proper and that was exactly what was needed. Thus, the lawyer.

Really, they had gotten lucky with Jennifer Walters, Esquire. They could have ended up with an egotistical mouthpiece or a massive bitch.

The conference room occupied, Maria and Jennifer began the arduous tasks that was needed to get done to make sure that the Esquire was legally protected from a wide variety of issues should someone come after SHIELD, the Avengers, Tony Stark, hell… throw Thor in there too considering that he really did fit the definition of _illegal alien_. First was a three-dozen digital and physical page Non-Disclosure Agreement that by far superseded anything that Walters had ever seen, covering legal issues, sensitive materials, classified information, secret documentations, events, satellite imagery, electronic acquirements (i.e., hacking), government documentation (legal, illegally acquired, American or not), and what to do in concerns of the press, social media, or some podcasting conspiracy nut with more gadgets than brain cells. Jennifer read it all (not skimmed, _read_) and had questions to things she was just learning about for the first time (such as certain security clearance levels and what the differences meant), and elaborations on what she needed to know (as a lawyer, she could still claim client-attorney confidentiality, that old stick that kept mob bosses out of prison when delivering orders to subordinates when their _consiglieri_ were present, making it technically a 'legal meeting' that couldn't be brought up in court). Walters actually asked about that, as the relationship between the Avengers and SHIELD hadn't been really defined. Yes, the Avengers Initiative was a program of SHIELD, but its rocky start and the fact that at least three of the persons in it could absolutely walk away with no one being able to stop them (being Stark, Thor, and Banner) meant that things were at a bit of an _impasse_. They needed each other, but both had to actually realize that and find a way to make that work. With the aftermath of the Battle of New York, most of the focus had been on reconstruction and apprehension of ChiTech and anyone trying to swipe it up. It was a working relationship, but not a healthy one.

Maria had to admit, Jennifer was like her cousin in a lot of ways; very smart, and not a person to make mad. Oh, she didn't turn into a green-skinned titan of rage and strength. But that intelligence of hers would pick a person to pieces, and as a fully-accredited attorney, she could certainly slap injunctions, subpoenas, and audits from a wide variety of legal fields faster than one would realize how bad they fucked up. Plus Hill was pretty certain Walters had smuggled a pistol in her purse; she was a cop's daughter, after all.

That was hurtle one.

Hurtle two? Making Jennifer licensed through the Bar Association of New York State.

"When can that happen?" Walters asked as she was still reading through the NDA, annotating a few things on a legal pad pertaining to questions or things she needed to look up later for full understanding. She took it serious, which was a good thing.

"I already have someone making an appointment for you, which I believe will be Wednesday." Jennifer probably didn't know that a whole _slue_ of lawyers were descending onto New York City to, undoubtedly, reap the benefits of a large-scale disaster like a pack of ravenous vultures. No doubt she would be facing a fair deal of those lawyers. "Thankfully, the California Bar Association and the New York Bar Association are near-equivalent, and the proctored test, as I understand it, will be a simple one that will take about half-an-hour. You should have your New York State License by Friday." Such things took weeks, but they needed Jennifer _now_. It would be done by Friday.

"I'm going to need a District and a Federal, too. Most certainly a Federal one." That had Maria pause. A Federal Bar Association License was exactly what it sounded like; the ability to practice law on the _Federal_ Level. That meant the Supreme Court, and Federal Court, Federal Appellate, probably a few others she couldn't recall off-hand. But that also meant that she could represent someone while on foreign soil, too, if Hill remembered correctly. Barton was wanted for murder in Germany (extradition paperwork could take months if one dragged ones' feet) and surprisingly Thor was being sued in Norway for being a False God. That one still had her utterly appalled. She felt sorry for that poor bastard when he met the God of Thunder.

"I'll look into the dates, requirements, and anything pertaining into what you need." The Esquire was going to have a hell of a full plate herself. Plus Maria had a 'legal team'… technically, legal experts needed to circumvent laws or legal loopholes to exploit during their missions and operations. Experts, but none of them lawyers they could actually use.

"And do we have any private investigators or investigative journalists on retainer? Some we can trust?"

Maria was a little at a loss for words on that one.

"Well, if I need to go to bat in a courtroom for one of the Avengers for a mission," Jennifer explained with a smile, obviously seeing the confusion on her face, "I'm sure displaying classified materials obtained by a hush-hush agency that hacked God knows how many government databases illegally will do wonders for a jury of peers ranging from blue-collar conservatives to people who want to stick it to the mythical New World Order. Fancy taking the stand and perjuring yourself while under oath, Major Hill of the organization-I-can't-name-because-they-don't-publicly-exist?"

"I'll… look into that." Damn, Walters was right. If anyone asked _how_ the Avengers might have known about things, there would need to be a chain-of-evidence. And anything obtained illegally or off-the-books would be immediately tossed no matter how rotten the person or organization in question was. A private investigator or investigative journalist had certain protections in the legal world if hired and sent to 'discover' certain things, giving a clear chain-of-evidence as well as information that _could_ be disclosed to the public since it wouldn't be ripped out of a protected government database or involve a clandestine operative breaking into a facility. The Central Intelligence Agency didn't answer to the Courts, after all; there was the Intelligence Sub-Committee for that, and even then they didn't ask 'direct' questions about missions unless something went wrong. But SHIELD wasn't an American organization protected by the American Government, but by the World Security Council… which was a secret portion of the United Nations that didn't really know that it was running a clandestine agency, its existence known only to six members in the UN. "I'll have options by the end of the day. Some local, others not."

"Yeah, a passport." Jenn was chewing on the end of her pencil as she continued reading the Non-Disclosure Agreement, near the end of it. "A place to live and some clothes would be nice. And dossiers on NPO or Foundation business managers, some staff, a few more legal personnel, a public relations guru, a CPA, probably a few others I haven't thought up of yet."

Maria was still a little speechless.

"No mater how powerful an organization or business, Major," Jennifer began, "America runs on the thought that everyone is answerable to someone, and generally that someone is a civilian. Businesses answer to their investors and stockholders. The military answers to elected officials. Even the government has a checks-and-balance systems. If you want to operate the Avengers on American soil, can I call you Maria?" The woman in question nodded. "If you want this to succeed without someone crying 'superhero death squad' or 'Team America: World Police' every thirteen seconds, then the public needs to approve of the Avengers. Easy to do now with a victory under their belt, but I'm looking at the long-term; weeks, months, years… decades." The Esquire's eyes never shifted at all as they looked at Hill. "In order to do that, it must look like the Avengers are answerable to someone; someone _separate_. Not… SHIELD," she had gotten that name from the Non-Disclosure Agreement, "not Tony Stark because that's a conflict-of-interest, not Stark Industries because they'll be sued so hard that it will simply cease to exist before the end of the year, and certainly someone who can walk in front of a camera or a room full of reporters or a courtroom and publicly admit their identity and credentials. I doubt this… World Security Council," she looked it up in her notes, "will enjoy subpoenas or defining their involvement with a large limelight and hundreds of thousands of opportunists with internet access nitpicking anything and everything on them, especially when someone asks where that nuke came from when Tony Stark decided to Slim Pickins it through a wormhole." Maria winced at that one. Jenn hadn't been told that _at all_ but she was more than smart enough to figure out where the tactical nuclear missile might have come from. "No matter how powerful one person _may_ get, they ultimately answer to someone else. Ask Saddam Hussein how well that worked out for him when he thought he could tell the UN _fuck off_ enough times."

"I… see your point." Shit, this meeting wasn't going _at all_ what Maria had expected. Not that it was bad, but, yeah, she underestimated Jennifer Walters. Maria had expected the atypical lawyer whose first words out of her mouth would have been _hourly rates_ and _billable hours_. "So are you installing _yourself_ as this so-called leader?"

"For the interim, probably the next couple of weeks since I have a clean bill of health on all the things I just mentioned." Jennifer replied, sitting back in her chair. "When I get the NPO and the Foundation going, we'll do something proper where a Chief Executive Officer or Foundation Manager is elected by a committee, which would be the Avengers themselves, but that person _cannot_ be an Avenger or a member of SHIELD; it needs to be someone who is answerable and approachable, but also nominally in charge of said individuals. Again, I don't think we need Tony running around to absolutely every press conference, court date, fundraiser, and strike mission if necessary. As much as we hate bureaucracies, they do exist for a reason; separation of powers, getting the right people to the right jobs, and giving those who do the real knuckle work the rest and protection they need so they can do so again day after day. At the end of it all, _that's_ our mission."

"You know, you would have made a hell of an agent." Hill replied ruefully, smiling. "In ten minutes, you've thought of things we hadn't. Then again, we've been picking up the pieces, too."

"And that's the point. We need a couple of heads so we can focus." Jenn leaned forward. "SHIELD will be its own entity, and I don't need to tell you how to run your jobs; I wouldn't know where to begin on that." Well, that was better than Average Joe who _thought_ they knew what a spy did thanks to a slue of James Bond films. "We keep the organizations separate so that if one goes down, the other still exists to do its job. We're not here to fight the worlds' wars or right its wrongs, that lies in the hands of their governments and the people that elect them. Our job is going to be the things that the governments are too scared to go against… or the things that a select portion of said governments are involved in that will turn into a disaster.

"Things like what happened to Bruce."

"Exotic threat intervention." Maria nodded, knowing what Jennifer was doing. No one had said '_Team America: World Police_', but it was only a matter of time. And that kind of thing could start wars. The creation of the Avengers could lead to the creation of a cold war involving twisted science or scary technology, one of the reasons that SHIELD and Tony had jumped so hard on ChiTech. Right now they had the edge, and they could in fact prepare for some of those exotic threats. But what Jennifer was creating was a sort of organization that rmemined hands-off concerning normal threats that governments dealt with; terrorism, the war on drugs, crime, that sort of thing. It did seem rather silly to have a superpowered person out catching purse-snatchers, and what the Esquire was doing was creating a mission statement that would be on a public website detailing what the Avengers did, just like any other business or organization.

Trust. Jenn was building trust.

"So we'll start separating the organizations before someone starts getting smart." Jenn told Maria. "We'll have a SHIELD Liaison with the necessary clearance for you guys to pass information. Sorry, no more direct phone calls for impromptu strikes with Iron Man." How the hell had she known about that? "But that barrier works in both of our favors when SHIELD needs the secrecy and the Avengers need the public approval. We'll work together, but we also need to make sure that someone is around ten years from now if it takes whoever it is that long to come up with another effective method."

"SHIELD has been around since after World War Two." Maria pointed out.

"_In secret_, which will likely not be the case for much longer." The lawyer pointed out, which was sadly becoming a point. Though none of the Avengers had blabbed, some reporters were making pretty good inquests and then there were the conspiracy nuts who were actually beginning to gain steam. Sooner or later, some politician low in the approval polls would start making waves to keep his job, axing jobs and benefits while preaching doing good work. Neither SHIELD nor the Avengers were going to have an easy road, and Hill had to admit that his lawyer from Southern California wasn't going into the job blinded by the popularity. She had a damn good head on her shoulders, was obviously intelligent, and was obviously committed. This was the exact person Fury had been looking for, even if it hadn't been Walters at first they had considered. Really, they had lucked out.

"Which brings me to the next point," Jenn consulted her legal pad for points she had come up with, when Maria had no idea, "personnel. Nat and Clint are either SHIELD Agents, or they are Avengers. They _cannot_ be both." The Esquire was looking her dead in the eye that said _I'm not backing down on this at all_. "Since their covers, whatever they are, were blown wide open on May Eleventh, I suggest an early retirement package with a nice severance package in which we at," Walters rolled her eyes and sighed, "_Avengers, Incorporated_ hire them on with a nice healthy signing bonus and medical coverage for them and whatever families they have. That goes for any personnel that you wish to include into our roster, being for staff, security, catering, drivers, pilots… whomever. You send them here, you send them knowing they're flying the coop and not coming back."

"_Avengers, Incorporated_?"

"Yeah, I'm licensing, trademarking, and copywriting a logo for a kickstarter fund. Merchandise on what will likely be the most popular logo this year is going to help pay the bills while I beg and grovel at charities, auctions, fundraisers, Kickstarter, Foundations, and probably Bill and Melissa Gates." Maria almost scoffed until she remembered that Bill Gates and his wife held the largest private Foundation in the world, and it was larger than many public organizations' reserves, secular or not. "Safe ChiTech might be a next. New Age power sources, possibly personal armor, maybe something that can give us an advanced detection system that's pointed _up_, not _down_." Jenn was real serious on not leveling the big stick at anything Earthbound. That was probably going to be a big selling point for her when she got things rolling.

"Did… you sleep at all last night?"

"Yes, like a baby." Jennifer replied. "I might be the only woman in the world who had a sleepover at Tony's house and didn't trip and fall into his bed." The SHIELD Agent had to stop herself from laughing out loud at that one. While not true… it wasn't far off the mark, either. "I'm sure there's a million and one things I haven't reached yet, but this was just some of the bigger immediate things I could think up of after my talk with Tony." Jenn looked off to one side, seemingly pondering something for a long moment before finally returning to the Major.

"There is something I need to know." The lawyer said, tapping her pencil on the Non-Disclosure Agreement. It hadn't been signed yet. "It will stay between you and me.

"Where the fuck did the nuke come from?"

That unsigned Non-Disclosure Agreement laid heavily between them. With that kind of information, a lot of people could burn publicly, and Jenn would be un-prosecutable. Yet Maria knew why she had asked before signing. _Can I trust you?_

"During the worst of the Battle," Hill began slowly, "our Helicarrier, a flight-capable aircraft carrier, had been damaged severely by Loki's forces. We, SHIELD, were unable to respond when Tony, Steve, Nat, and Clint went to New York, Thor having been ejected earlier by his half-brother and Bruce… Bruce we had to kick off because he changed and we didn't need our Helicarrier crashing onto American soil." Jenn nodded, not arguing. "Thor and Bruce had showed up to the Battle, and while the Avengers were containing the situation at the moment, there was no sort of exit strategy or win scenario that could be come up with at the time. Everything had gone wrong, and… and the Avengers were barely holding on.

"It was the six members of the World Security Council who unanimously elected to send a tactical nuke into Midtown Manhattan for the sake of the world." Maria told the lawyer, knowing that she could go to prison at the very least for this if it were ever mentioned. Jenn knew it, too. "Director Nick Fury, Director of Operations, shot down the idea. Literally, actually; he brought down one of the planes with an RPG before it left the catapult, but the second one was able to launch before we could stop it." Hill closed her eyes, remembering how she felt when she watched that F-35 Lightning II Fighter Jet fly off into the sky. "I… really thought everyone in Midtown was going to be dead. Hundreds of thousands for the sakes of billions. It's a choice I pray to God I never _ever_ have to make. And while Tony took that nuke and sent it through the wormhole before Natasha shut off the device that was powering the portal, it's still a decision that…" Maria opened her eyes and let out a sigh. "I'll never know if that was the right choice to make, even if it did win us that battle. I suspect it will be something that haunts me for years to come."

Jenn nodded slowly. And then signed the Non-Disclosure Agreement.

"We do our jobs right, and we'll be on top of things before they get to that point." Walters delivered, no doubt in her tone. "But if that day comes, I'm not listening to a shadow group of individuals of questionable morality and accountability. That next hard decision will come from someone like me, someone like you, someone like Director Fury. Someone who can take the stand and say '_I had to make the worst decision of my life in order to save as many lives as possible_' to a public who never will understand. I don't need an order-filler or a secret society telling me how to do my job.

"And neither do you."

* * *

_**Fine - ARC I: The New Hire**_

* * *

**ARC II: The Legal Has Landed**

**5th Avenue and Broadway Street, Lower Manhattan Manhattan, New York City, New York, May 23, 2012**

_+12 Days after the Battle of New York_

Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark sat in the back of his SRT8 Chrysler 300C along with Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., being driven by Harold 'Happy' Hogan, to be one of the first 'official' employees of what was going to be known as _Avengers, Incorporated_. Give a lawyer a couple of days, and one could really flip the world upside down, but Tony had to admit that Jenn was better than advertised, and her cousin had really sold her. She had already outline the basic premise and foundation of what was to be the future of the Avengers… including civilian oversight. For the time being, Jennifer had been elected the unofficial 'manager' by all of the Avengers when she had outlined her plan to them last night, trying to spend some time with them so that they could ask her questions and get a sense of her before trying to install herself as their _de facto_ leader until the Non-Profit Organization known as _Avengers, Incorporated_ as well as _The Avengers Foundation_ became a reality, in which official positions, seats, and membership and employment would commence. It was heady stuff, but thankfully himself, Doctor Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, and even Captain Steve Rogers to a certain degree, understood what Jenn was trying to do. Thor, thankfully, understood it was _mortal_ stuff and let them work it out amongst themselves.

"So here's some prelim designs that I've gotten back," Jennifer said as she handed over a StarkTab electronic tablet that was of his own design, far superior to anything on the market. It didn't even have a screen. Tony looked at thumbnails of sketches that was to be a line of merchandise for the Avengers where half of the proceeds would go to various charities and organizations that the _Avengers Foundation_ would sponsor to keep their so-called 'white hat' while working towards something resembling a stable platform that would undoubtedly take a few months to get all the kinks out.

"I like this one." Tony picked one of himself in his Iron Man suit, standing in a rather heroic pose with the backdrop of Earth right behind him. Fuck yes it was awesome.

"Thought you might. Check out the one with Cap." The next one had Captain America standing with the New York skyline right behind him, Steve Rogers looking as if he were gazing off in the distance, ever-vigilant while in full uniform. Tony still had some… issues to work out with himself pertaining to Captain Steven Grant Rogers, most of them stemming from his father instead of the soldier. He really was trying. Though he had to admit, the design was pretty damn good. It fit Rogers' to a tee.

"Just wait until you see the Halloween costumes." Jenn juked her eyebrows up, and Stark realized that however smart he was when it came to business, Jenn seemed to find a way to foil it and do it better. He hadn't even thought of Halloween, where droves of kids would absolutely be going nuts at the chance of dressing up like an Avenger. "I drew a little rough sketch on some ideas, like little LED lights for the chest piece for the Iron Man costume, probably a pair for the hands." That had Tony just shake his head.

"Are you suppose to be doing some lawyer test in like an hour?"

"My New York State Bar Exam? I can pass that in my sleep while suing an insurance company for liability." The Esquire replied, no doubt in her tone whatsoever. "I looked it over yesterday for questions they'll likely ask. The California one is harder. So's the Connecticut one." He would just have to take her word for it. "Get done with this, and then I can start the real work." There was a smile there. Bruce had warned him about Jenn's smile.

"So who's on the chopping block?" She had been hired to fight the Avengers' legal battles, and he was pretty sure she was about to do just that.

"Them." She swiped the page on the StarkTab to show a publication that had come out of a newspaper four days before, on a Friday. It wasn't the front page or the major scrolling marquee on a news media website. It probably ranked somewhere at the bottom of everything, and yet Jenn had sought it out. And she had every right to do so.

"They can do that?" Tony asked, frowning. He knew _of_ the clause in question, as well as the companies in question. Hell, most probably had heard of them, but probably didn't realize just how big they were. In fact, they were the largest companies of their kind in America. And they had done _that_? Appalling.

"While the answer is they can probably get away with it, about a few hundred of the lawsuits delivered towards the Avengers comes from them, and it pertains to the same very thing." The lawyer just shook her head, her face going hard. "They just fucked everyone over and then tried to turn around and sue _us_ for the same thing? I'm going to have their balls stapled to the fucking Washington Monument for everyone to see. If they're lucky, I'll detach them first." There was no mercy there. None whatsoever.

Tony looked at the editorial buried; American Insurance Group (known as AIG), the Shulman Group, and the Hartmann Group, the three largest insurance companies in America (and likely the world) had declared the entirety of the Attack of New York on May Eleventh to be an Act of God. Tony knew what that meant.

Every damaged brick, every broken bone, every fallen building, every lost life… the insurance companies weren't going to pay up _at all_. Damages were estimated to be near five billion dollars in damages, worse than September Eleventh and Hurricane Katrina.

And those same groups had the audacity to sue _the Avengers_ for two billion dollars for damages when they were stiffing the bill? Really, they were going for Stark Industries, but the fact of the matter was that they were trying to have their cake and eat it too at the same time. The absurdity of it was beyond mind-boggling. Tony was about to reach for his phone to call for a nice legal attack when he realized that there was a reason Jenn had showed that editorial to him. He looked over to the Esquire, who was still smiling.

"You have a plan?" Stark asked.

"When I'm done with them, they won't be able to sell _renters' insurance_." The lawyer replied. "I'm getting New York and her citizens their rightful compensation, pull out likely the largest torts case that will ever exist, and people will love me for it. Because they made one… big… mistake." She leaned over again to swipe at the StarkTab and showed another page, this one (surprisingly) a bill pushed through Congress. "Look at the heading, and then look at the date."

Tony did, and his jaw dropped.

"Oh yeah. I got this." Jenn was rubbing her hands with anticipation, looking a good deal like him when he was working on one of his suits.

Someone was about to get their asses legally slaughtered. And he had ringside seats to the show.

* * *

Author's Note: For Maria Hill's full name, since one isn't given for the Earth-616 (Main Continuity) Marvel Universe, I went with Cobie Smulder's real first name, Jacoba Francisca Maria 'Cobie' Smulder's, named after her great-aunt.

I interject a little US Constitutional Law into some of the idea of what is _Avengers, Incorporated_; legal and public oversight, which is what happens with companies. What, you think some superhuman group running around without any real oversight is a good idea? Look up the Phoenix Project, UltraMK, and then how many atomic weapons we lost in the Fifties. Yes, _lost atomic weapons_. (Seventeen, I believe). Private Organizations are generally beholden to their investors, while Public Companies are to their stockholders. Other organizations (say, religious ones), are generally more-or-less allowed to ran with little-to-no discretion unless they start breaking laws.

Wait, the Avengers are going to be a LLC (Limited Liability Company)? While I am, by no means, an expert in business law, corporate law, tax law, or Federal Law, a singular owner can create a company under the LLC Rules. So Jenn could, in fact, _own_ the Avengers as a legal entity, protecting them via the Constitution and Federal Law from certain… transgressions issues involving oversight and liability-without-purview (which is what CA:CW focused on).

On A Personal Note…

I've been working on the idea that was _Jennifer Walters_ plus _MCU_ for about a year or so now. While doing other stories (around half a dozen).

Coming up with the idea wasn't hard; making it work… was. Just tossing someone you know into the mix can go badly if unplanned. I wondered how to make Jenn Walters slide into the Avengers (pre-Battle or post-Battle) when the Hulk is still on the run to keep from being used, experimented on, or getting another Emil Blonsky treatment. Simply put; it _couldn't_ work logically. Not prior to the Battle of New York. I had some ideas bringing out OsCorp (Stormin' Norman Osborne strikes again!) as a culprit and a recently-changed Jenn Walters/She-Hulk into the mix, where the movie/MCU Avengers were involved. This idea had some steam, but still ended up having the flaw _HOW_ one would recreate the Hulk when he was seen as a threat/probably just a conspiracy?

So… I went for the other side of the coin.

Who said Jenn _had_ to be She-Hulk?

The idea made sense; Jenn and Bruce are _cousins_. Simply have it to where it's Jenn that is the one that Bruce Banner goes to instead of Doctor Elizabeth 'Betsy' Ross, and you have establishment. Everything else stays in continuity (Bruce on the run) but the 'second movie' would have to involve Betsy instead of Jenn, since Culvert University was in New Jersey and not Southern California (where Jenn is practicing law). Everything else pertaining to _Hulk_ (2003) and _The Incredible Hulk_ (2011) more-or-less stays the same (most certainly the Hulk/Abomination fight as well as that tiny 5-second snippit in _Avengers_ where Bruce was supposedly trying to recreate _Project: Rebirth_).

How to get Jenn involved? Well, she is a lawyer, there was a big attack, and we all know that the Avengers were a bit of a hot mess before, during, and after the Battle of New York.

One lawyer with a reason to make it work (family), coming right up.

I am simply astounded by the amount of reads, fav's, and follows this story has generated so quickly, having surpassed my other stories at the 'start line' level in terms of building steam. Yes, I usually write _Mass Effect_ stories and there are at least twice as many _Avengers_-oriented ones (as well as not coming from the slump of a bad installment). But what really shocked me were the responses from people picking up on this story. There are a great many good stories out there in fun categories (I'm a pretty big fan of StarkKid, and the IronDaddy/SpideySon one certainly hits a lot of hearts!) and certainly I'm not the only one to inject a Marvel-616 character into the MCU, but I certainly am surprised by this fact…

…I'm the only person in the Marvel _Movie_ category to use Jennifer Walters of any kind as the main protagonist (or at least has the name _Jennifer Walters_ or _She-Hulk_ in the summery).

To think, I practically tripped over it.

Now yes, dear reader, you and I both know why you saw this title and clicked on it (I'm a jerk, not an idiot). We ALL know who Jennifer Walters really is despite only measuring five-foot-seven and weighing in at a grand 130+ lbs. You're just waiting for that moment, aren't you?

No worries, true believers; you shan't be disappointed. (And that's my Tom Holland moment)


	6. The Legal Has Landed, I

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**ARC II: The Legal Has Landed**

**60 Center Street, Civic Center, Lower Manhattan, New York City, New York, May 25, 2012**

_+14 Days after the Battle of New York_

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., walked out of the New York State Supreme Court Building in the late afternoon with a smile on her face and the right to practice law in the State of New York and the Second District.

"That looks like good news." Came from her chauffeur for the day, Harold 'Happy' Hogan, dressed in a simple black suit that would immediately identify him as a businessman or a driver. Happy, as Jenn understood it, had been a long time 'executive' assistant for Tony Stark, being his driver, bodyguard, and personal trainer. Back in High School, he had been both a Golden Gloves-contender and an amateur wrestler. Jenn hadn't gotten to know Happy all that well in the past day or two, but the few conversations that she had with him showed him to be a good man with a good heart. And a rather wicked right hook, Natasha Romanoff relayed to her that morning with a smile. Coming from the Black Widow, Jenn took that as an endorsement.

"It is." The Esquire replied as she walked down the steps of the New York State Supreme Court Building, an iconic edifice that one could see on many _Law and Order_ episodes and more than a few movies, its temple-like appearance of the granite-faced hexagonal building built in the style of Classical Romanesque as a temple to Justice and Authority. "I am now officially a part of the New York State Bar Association, as well as that of the Second District and Federal level. I can literally practice law anywhere in the world."

While that wasn't exactly true, she had the _possibility_ of taking to court any cases that came up, especially Natasha's extradition and assault charges in Russia, Clint Barton's extradition, torture, mutilation, and murder charges, and then Thor's pseudoapothesis charges in Norway. Oh, and a bottling company in Brazil was now trying to file suit against the Incredible Hulk for destroying their plant a year prior. That one… Jenn knew for fact to be true, Bruce having told her the previous night the details about how he first met Captain Emil Blonsky.

Now she had the ability to do her job.

"We've got the paperwork for _Avengers, Incorporated_ being filed as we speak on the State and Federal level," Jenn told the driver as they walked together down the long steps of the Supreme Court Building, "as well as _The Avengers Foundation_. Tax law can be a righteous pain in the ass, but those same tax laws will be our paper shields whenever someone gets it in their head that our merry band of superheroes are free game from lawsuits, torts claims, government interference, and political doggerel. While everyone else is busy throwing accusations, pointing fingers, pretending to pat themselves on the back as if they did something, or throwing their face in front of a camera and spouting stupidity, I'm going to have thirteen different ways of making it hurt when they come after our friends. Stark Industries is isolated and won't be held responsible, our friends at Division," that was the codeword for SHIELD, which neither one of them could mention in public, "won't come to light, and anyone who thinks that they can take charge of any member of our organization like that one Senator did with Tony a few years back. What was his name again? Gerald Stern?"

"I'm pretty sure his first name is 'asshole'." Happy offered as they reached street level, Jenn chuckling at the former boxers' joke. "He's probably still butthurt somewhere down in DC."

"I don't doubt it." Senator Stern (R-PA) just so happened to be on the Armed Services Subcommittee On Emerging Threats And Capabilities, whose oversight included the jurisdiction over Department of Defense policies and programs to counter emerging threats (like weapons of mass destruction, terrorism, and illegal narcotics), information warfare and special operations programs, the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, the Department of Energy non-proliferation programs, and the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA). He wasn't small potatoes; one didn't make it to a congressional subcommittee, especially one of the Armed Services one, being considered only slightly patriotic or straying too far from partisan lines of ones' party.

Jenn already had a good work-up on the good Senator, such information on public servants equally public, as required by law. Fortunately, despite his vaulted position, Senator Sterns was small potatoes compared to some other threats that she was just beginning to learn about. Much to her displeasure.

She hadn't even scratched the surface yet, so to speak.

"So, late lunch? We're practically in Chinatown." Happy offered, and Jenn had to admit that food sounded divine. She hadn't eaten lunch thanks to the necessary runaround involving getting her New York State Bar Examination back and filing it through the States' Department of Licensing, getting her proper accreditations and credentials filed so that she could practice law in New York State. As a safety measure, she had already scheduled a test to gain her Criminal Law Examination in two months' time, what would make her officially an Attorney-at-Law.

She hadn't before in California for the simple fact that most cases in San Bernardino County were of the nature of drug-related or alcohol-related charges, and Jenn had wanted no part in freeing drunk drivers or drug dealers. She had also stayed away from retainer services from the many companies and corporations that absolutely littered Southern California, choosing to be a 'free' lawyer instead of at the beck-and-call of some multi-billion dollar corporation being their legal gopher.

"Chinese sounds good." After several hours spent in the Court Building getting all the paperwork filled out and filed, there was a good cause to celebrate. Jenn had been working nearly non-stop on several projects between the lawsuits, _Avengers, Incorporated_, _The Avengers Foundation_, and setting up the foundations in what would likely be the first public organization to host actual 'metahumans'. There were no laws that had any way of dealing with them for good or ill, despite the fact that Captain America had existed for seventy years, Ivan Vanko had publicly assaulted Tony Stark on a Monacan speed track and the Stark Expo, the Hulk being known to certain elements of the American Government, and Thor being dropped out of the sky to land in some small town in New Mexico, along with four of his friends and a no-bullshit giant killer robot.

That lack of foresight was going to be Jenn's trump card; she was going to move in for the kill to push laws that would both protect and prosecute metahumans at various stages, having been an eyewitness to her cousins' dilemma and having a good guess on what some of the others might have went through… such as Natasha Romanoff.

Walters hadn't asked, but it only took her about five seconds to figure out that the Black Widow was likely one of those fireside stories about a KGB program creating sleeper cell agents and undetectable espionage agents; she was practically the Russian version of Jason Bourne, but better. No doubt Natasha had done some _very_ illegal things in many countries for both the former Soviet Union (if she was old enough) as well as SHIELD (whom obviously protected her while using her skills).

Those crimes didn't fall on Nat, in Jenn's mind; she could only guess that Romanoff had likely been a little girl snatched from her family and stuck in some facility to be turned into a child soldier and a living weapon. Those crimes didn't fall on her, but the people responsible for creating her. The same was true with Bruce as well. Every incident (save one) had been because General Thaddeus 'Thunderbolt' Ross had used force to detain her cousin… unleashing the monster within. Ross was too blinded with the thought of killing machines and covering up his mistakes to realize he was the cause of the 'national security threat' he was supposedly trying to neutralize. Had he stopped, the Hulk wouldn't have rampaged through Southern California, Manilla, Bangkok, Rio de Janeiro, New Jersey, or Harlem.

That was a big part of what Jennifer wanted to set up; responsibility and accountability.

Food came from a local hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant that didn't even have English signs to display its name or offerings; one didn't get more authentic than that. Jenn settled for pointing at the picture of the pork yokisaba dish while Happy ended up with whatever the number four happened to be.

"So what's the next move, boss?" Happy asked as Jenn took a pair of chopsticks into her hand and began eating. "Probably a little too late to send legal missiles and subpoenas." It was after four on a Friday, and obviously Happy had been around Tony and his own legal battles long enough to know how things worked generally in a courtroom.

"Actually, I had several process servers ready to go the moment I signed the papers and handed them over." Jenn smiled sweetly, boggling the man. "You really want to screw someone's day over? You send an inquest or a subpoena at five on a Friday and have the deadline for nine o'clock in the morning the following Monday. That kind of thing happens all the time. War hath no fury like a lawyer scorned." That had Hogan snort at the changed idiom. "True, they'll send some gopher lawyer over with paperwork for an extension. There's about a hundred ways you can play for time in the legal world, just like there's a hundred ways of making it hurt without walking into a courtroom. I happen to know some magical phrases in the insurance world that will really make their day. Insurance is actually my bread-and-butter, so this is a good way of knocking off some of those lawsuits, getting some clot and traction, building up the business book, and then ultimately I'm going to force the insurance companies to pay what New York deserves."

"Won't you be needed a team of lawyers? Big guys like that will probably avalanche you with paperwork, inquests… what's the court-appointed one where you have to list everything? Legal audit?"

"Actually, that's to prevent litigation fraud, mismanagement of hourly billing. That's aimed at lawyers for businesses who think a firm or retainer is just charging them inappropriately." Which had happened in the past on many occasions. "They're going to love me; I'm salary. That's practically every lawyer's nightmare."

"How come?" Happy was legitimately interest as he took a bite of his chow mien.

"Most every lawyer works off of billable hours, which depending on the state can be reckoned by six minutes or fifteen minutes." The driver was nodding, knowing it or understanding it. "Some work off a fee based on the case; that's usually tax lawyers, which I've done more than a few times for San Bernardino. Audits aren't charged by the hour, but by the amount of paperwork involved. I… wouldn't say it's actually cheaper with some of these large-scaled companies. _Pro Bono_, what most people think of as 'non-profit' but is really 'for the public good' is generally the fifty hours that lawyers are generally suppose to offer annually to keep their licenses, or organizations that really do _pro bono publico_ work, in which the lawyers are salary, not needing a dime from the public and not charging hourly."

"Then why the bad rep? I mean, I've heard it on the news." Happy asked. "They make it sound like _pro bono_ work is slavery or something."

"Because legal work is like being a ships' captain during the Napoleonic Era." Walters replied after taking another bite of yakisoba. "Most people think of Attorneys-at-Law when they think of lawyers; criminal prosecutors and defenders. We've got movies and shows of them. Those are like the warship captains of the sea." Hogan was eating up the reference. "But like in those days, a 'captured' enemy vessel got you a prize; you were rewarded for getting a vessel back to your nations' hands, a free ship at a fraction of the cost. Ship, captain, and crew profited from such actions. Same with lawsuits; civil lawyers, esquires such as myself, don't charge by the hour but on commission. The general take is anywhere from a third to as much as forty percent of _your_ compensation.

"It's one of the reasons why I hated medical malpractice suits or worker compensation claims," Walters continued, "you'd get a person who was wrongfully injured and rightfully does deserve compensation, but the insurance companies would dig in their heels and drag their feet with investigations, paperwork, tossing the file around a plethora of adjusters, and turning the whole thing into a mess while there is a man or woman who can't be on the job due to an injury and the bills are piling up."

"Sounds… personal."

"Yes." Jenn had to nod; Happy wasn't a fool despite his thick muscular body and boxers' face. "First case I worked was a father of three who got hurt on the job when some jackass on a forklift clipped him. Broke several bones, sent him to the emergency room, and he was in recovery in several casts for several weeks while bills mounted and he could barely take care of his kids." That case had been her first; every lawyer remembered their first.

"The insurance company wanted the forklift operator to take a sobriety test as well as a urinalysis; pretty standard," Jenn explained, "and then my client as well. And then an investigation on the company's dime on safety practices. And then video footage of the accident for review and preliminaries. Medical referrals were held up, the hospital was billing the employee who was injured when the insurance came back as 'in contest', and the poor guy can't drive a car to make it to any of the bullshit hoops the insurance company was tossing up. When I got the case, it was week four. Jonathan's got three little girls and a runaway wife, over a hundred thousand dollars in medical debt, hadn't earned a paycheck in a month, and calls from the mortgage company about his payment." Jenn closed her eyes, easily remembering that case.

Every lawyer remembered their first case, and then a couple that were just as powerful. For her, it was Jonathan Drew, father of three. A dyed-in-the-wool blue-collar worker who muscled a ten hour day so his kids could have good clothes and a yard to play in. The true-blue American man. He had been struck by a forklift that had been carrying a load that had stood taller than the mast, blocking the view of the driver as he went _forward_ instead of _reverse_; a compliance and negligence accident that sadly was quite common in workplaces that had forklifts.

John had been in the yellow designated walkways of the warehouse (where workers were allowed to safely walk) when he had been clipped from behind when the driver lost view of the walkway (well, he didn't have it at all) and struck the man with a one-ton load on a five-ton forklift going at full-speed of five miles an hour. Drew had broken fourteen bones, mostly on his left side from being hit, and one from being knocked to the ground from the speed and force. In terms of warehouse accidents, it was an absolute stupid disaster that was one-hundred percent preventable.

Insurance companies practically ran the safety and compliance regulations, and actually that was a good thing; it avoided conflict-of-interest of business managers who preferred to cut corners for a profit, instead having to train and certify everyone for a lower monthly insurance bill they had to pay to keep their business license. In that, Jenn approved.

But at the end of the day, it was an insurance company's job to _insure_ and then _ensure_.

Yes, fraud was a very real thing, and that Jenn understood. There were people out there wanting to make a quick buck (some were regular people, some were lawyers), exasperate a situation, or out-and-out make a false claim. She had heard her fair share of horror stories and people lying straight out of their teeth while practicing in San Bernardino. There were positions in insurance companies that were there to make sure that such things were discovered, but also to make sure that people who had rightful claims were taken care of. Medical bills were expensive, but most insurance plans made people pay out-of-pocket a co-pay before covering the rest, and sometimes it would be in the thousands of dollars. Yet when one was currently out-of-work trying to fight an insurance company while laying in a traction half-broken? That was an impossible feat.

Thus, a lawyer. Her, in fact.

Jenn had been a green, wet-behind-her-ears Junior Associate for the Law Office of Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway when she had been handed the Drew case, the first case that she would work herself. She had been giddy at first, but what she had read had shocked her. She had actually gone to the man's house knowing how difficult it would be for him to come to her, and found that his three little girls were basically subsidizing on Raman and school lunches, Jonathan dead broke but trying hard to put on a brave face for his children.

What she had seen was a good man in a deteriorating situation, and it broke her heart.

Jenn… Jenn had gotten groceries with her own money, spent her time off work helping out the Drew family in the three weeks it took her to absolutely _slam_ the insurance company with a civil lawsuit that included medical bills, time loss, and the magical kicker that was _child endangerment_. Jenn won that case with a vengeance, settling out-of-court for a total of six hundred thousand dollars… which a third of it went to the Law Office of Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway. It was thankfully still more than enough for Jonathan to pay off the mortgage, pay off the car, and put money aside for his three girls for college.

She had saved a family.

Jenn still talked to those girls, twelve years later. They called her 'Mom' even though John had eventually married another woman. The oldest was a Sophomore in college (UCB), the youngest a Freshman in High School who was asking about _boys_.

"You have that grin on your face." The former boxer said, a grin of his own plastered on his face. "How old are the kids now?" Damn, he figured it out. Well, he had been Tony's bodyguard for years, having to assess for threats for one of the worlds' richest men and the American Warmonger.

"Libby's fifteen and a Freshman, _very_ interested in boys." That had Happy snort, but it didn't stop the knowing grin on his face. "Sarah's seventeen going on twenty-five and about to be a Senior. She's looking at colleges, and she's applied for scholarships." Sarah was talking _law school_, and though Jenn didn't say it out loud, she was _reallyreallyreally_ hoping that Sarah would. If Sarah actually did attend law school and got her _Juris Doctor_? There was no doubt in her mind that Jenn would be the first through that door with a job offer. "Jessica's in Berkeley, a Sophomore going for a Fine Arts degree. Hell of a photographer that did pictures for her school newspaper and… yeah, okay, I threw a couple of small gigs her way so she felt like a million bucks."

Jennifer was proud of all those girls, the surrogate mother to little women whose own egg donor had ran off to go into the entertainment industry that ended up with the world _adult_ in front of it. None of the kids talked to their birth mother, but to them, Jenn _was_ Mom. That had always touched her.

"You know, probably could swing a summer internship with the boss man, really impress the kids with what you're doing. Tony's done that more than a few times for parents in Stark Industries. Thinks it's a good show to have kids see what their parents do for a living as well as instilling a little of the American Dream to its future generations. Tony's… always had a soft spot for kids."

Jenn could easily guess what Happy was eluding to; Tony had mentioned more than once his estranged relationship with his late father, passing away when Tony was twenty-one and never having earned the approval that the son so desperately sought. Thank God her own father had never made that particular mistake, raising and praising both his daughter and his nephew in their endeavors.

Bruce had called Morris Walters a few days prior and had a bit of an emotional moment, Jennifer holding onto him as he did to make sure that Bruce wouldn't change, or at least the Hulk wouldn't do anything if 'Jenny' (as he called her) was there. Hulk saw her as family, and she returned that favor knowing who and what Big Green really was; that little boy who had seen his father beat his mother, had beating him, and then witnessed his father kill his mother with his bare hands. That rage and pain had been born of that, a child's fear of those that would hurt the weak and defenseless. The change had never happened, but Jenn… Jenn saw those eyes turn green, look right at her. Talking to the man who actually had raised him, had seen him as a son, being held by a cousin that saw him as a brother, one word had come from Bruce's mouth, but it had been in the Hulk's deep timber voice that rattled glass and souls.

_Promise_, that titan had said. Even after all those years, even after all those incidences, the Hulk remembered that night when Jennifer Walters stood up to a towering creature of muscle and rage, her arms wrapped around his massive neck and meeting his eyes with her own, never flinching. She had made a promise with him, and the Hulk…

…even after all this time, the Hulk had kept it.

Harlem proved it. The Battle of New York proved it.

A promise made on a rainy night nine years prior in Southern California, a young woman holding onto her monstrous cousins' neck, her feet dangling as she refused to let go, she had make the Hulk _swear_ he would never be like his father. _Uncle Morris protects people,_ Jenn had told him, tears in her eyes as she had held on, absolutely afraid but not letting go,_ I protect people. Hulk protects people. Promise me._

_Promise_ had been the reply, and he had kept it.

* * *

Friday night was generally the night when everyone who was unmarried and didn't have kids went out as a means that would eventually end up with them married with kids.

Jenn was no exception.

A born-and-raised Southern California girl, Jennifer Walters was no stranger to the night life that Los Angeles and its many nearby neighborhoods could bring, from parties in mansions in Beverly Hills to dive bars in Pasadena. A modern woman with a healthy respect for social media and the current trend, Jenn was now getting to the age that _slowing down_ and _nesting_ were becoming a bit more on the front of her mind. Sure, strides had been made for feminine equality and recognition, but biology was biology; that maternity clock had decided to kick in when she had turned thirty-two to remind her that women were built to have babies.

She had past relationships and even a few serious ones, but work kept her busy and it seemed that she had trouble finding men who understood that being a lawyer was a passion of hers. A month or so ago she had even tried a dating app only to cancel it a week or so later at the absolute perverted trolling she got when she actually posted appropriate pictures and had a perfectly acceptable profile.

New York was _nothing_ like SoCal.

The lawyer was no stranger to the environs that Southern California and its near-constant summer-like weather could bring. Beaches were a thing, she surfed from time to time, she liked to ride Baby on the PCH. At night when she took a night for herself, one could find the Esquire in popular digs or some of the bigger galas that populated the affluent SoCal population, a lawyer building a business book while being a woman having a night to relax and unwind at the same time. Parties were indoor and out, bars doubled not only as dance floors, but also _who's who_ watchers where it wasn't all that unusual to run into an actor or actress, a business mogul, or yes… even Tony Stark.

New York was its own separate world. And not necessarily in a bad way.

Tony had given her a list of hot spots when she had asked. Nat had given her a list of hot spots to avoid when the spy figured it out. Clint had given her a snub-nosed .357 Magnum Revolver and called it 'protection'. Bruce gave her a hug and told her to have fun while tinkering with a Chitauri Power Core. Thor was off to see Doctor Jane Foster after being taught the art of cell phones, and wished her 'a merry time'. Steve had stumbled and stammered when he saw her dressed up for a night on the town, and made a nearly century-old man blush with a classy party dress that covered everything while magnetizing eyes right at her.

Really, New York didn't stand a chance.

One of the big differences between SoCal and NYC were the cabs; they were _everywhere_. Jennifer had yet to see one gas station in Manhattan and wondered how the hell anyone got anywhere with all the heavy congestion with so many huge buildings surrounding everything. LA just sprawled and sprawled and sprawled, and one could see for miles in plenty of picturesque vistas. New York was crammed, surrounded by water and skyscrapers, the quintessential concrete jungle. Stoplights were everywhere, intersections at ever metered block, with thousands of pedestrians and vehicles ranging from SmartCars to delivery trucks turning the Island of Manhattan into a trap. It was no wonder New York City's Metropolitan Transportation Authority was the busiest in the Western World, with millions living in and around the boroughs of New York and the trains a faster and more convenient idea than walking or driving.

Still, she took a cab driven by a man who was ethnically Hindu. Jenn tried not to sigh at the obvious stereotype.

"Where to?" The driver asked, his Hindu-accented voice also tinted with British thanks to that Empire's colonization efforts that ran for something like two-hundred and fifty years.

"The Boltzman." The lawyer replied with a smile, looking at the rearview mirror to see the taxi cab drivers' face. He nodded knowingly, and began the drive from outside the containment area in Midtown to Greenspoint in Brooklyn.

Jennifer Walters was heading out for the night with her swag on and her game ready.

It was a bit of a chilly night for the City despite being late May, and while most people dressed warmly from head to toe to fight the cool weather that had come for a New York late spring, women who wanted to go out for whatever reasons had long since learned that looking good did not generally include a pair of slacks or jeans unless one went to a honky-tonk.

The skirt of her red cocktail dress hit just above her knees, and all she had to keep her legs warm were a pair of sheer dark leggings meant to accentuate her long legs, capped with a pair of heels to heroically keep her from topping six foot in height. She was dressed to impress as she always did during her nighttime jaunts into LA, exiting the cab that took her from her spot in Midtown outside containment to Greenspoint where her destination was.

The Boltzman Club was the new in-spot for the 'now' crowd, publicizing on social media and Tweets, a converted townhouse turned into a two-story club with a rooftop venue that played mid-tier acts on small-venue scales. It wasn't the kind of club that one went to dance the night away, though there was a dance floor. It wasn't the kind of club one went to get smashed at, though alcohol was prolific. No, it was the kind of club that one went to to be seen, to advertise ones' self and mingle with others of the same flavor. One didn't walk into the Boltzman Club in some bar-hoppers or their work clothes, unless work consisted of a nice dress or suit. The social urbanite was celebrated there, and to Jenn it was the scene that she found herself an expert of, an early-30's woman in the City who was unmarried, without children, and ready to live it up.

Walking into the club past the appraising and approving eyes of the greeters at the door was simplicity itself.

Jenn found herself walking into the converted townhouse with the low beats of house music playing just loud enough to get peoples' attention on the ground floor as she eyed the main room where the bar served beer and mixed drinks, but no straight hard liquor save the top-shelf popular drinks. Everyone was dressed well, no lower-class minglers coming to the Club with thoughts of rubbing elbows with those who were likely salary and working in locations such as banks, firms, investments, or even some form of government agency. This was the crowd of white collars, and Jenn fit right in as she checked in her purse for weapons (she handed Clint back the revolver), already noting that no less than seven guys and two ladies eyed her up appreciatively, three of them with phones out and thumbs working the keypads furiously. Selfies and instagrams were in vogue as Jen walked in with her ticket in her small Louis Vuitton purse and her eyes on the scene. The Club was about half and half with the genders, and this wasn't the kind of club that one brought their spouse to (unless they were a playful couple); this was the dating scene.

The lights were blued to be bright enough to see while keeping a low-light ambiance to the first floor of the club as a dozen conversations washed over Jenn as she made her way to her first destination; the bar. The bartenders (six of them) were all dressed in dress shirts and slacks, not one of them pegged anything less than 'girl/boy next door' in the looks department, and at least two of the female bartenders who were just short of jaw-dropping gorgeous. Jenn went and got her favorite drink, a Vodka Grape Nehi, spinning slowly to scope the place (and its eye-candy) out.

She was certainly going to become a regular.

"You're a new face. Most certainly too tan to be from around here."

Jenn found herself being talked to by a rather athletic-looking man.

"Just got into town on Sunday, crushed about two weeks' worth of work in one, and now it's time to reward myself." Jenn replied to the man that was most certainly displaying interest, noting that he was about the same height as her, and dressed in a business casual suit that wasn't disguising his frame at all. Those shoulders were certainly something to look at. "New York isn't SoCal, that's for certain."

"Actress? I could so see them redoing _Red Sonja_ with you." The man said, who had the classic martini glass in one hand. That was a bit of a rare one, usually reserved for those who were sophisticated or thought themselves that way. "But I doubt actress. Tall women get action roles, and pretty sure I would have seen you before."

"No, not an actress. It's a nice guess, though." Jenn had met more than a few minor actresses, and the most polite term she could use for them would be _snooty_. "Are we playing the 'guess the profession' game?" There was most certainly a hint of amusement in her tone. The man had the classic rugged good looks, just enough scruff to be more than a five o'clock shadow, Justin Bieber-like longer hair than most men had but well-kept, and no tan line on his left hand. Jenn picked juries for a living, and she had learned long ago at the feet of some of the best how to gauge a book (or a man or woman) by their cover.

"You certainly aren't from around here, pardon the expression." The man smiled lopsided, but he was amused, too. "Most recognize me on sight considering you see my face on more than a few billboards, but it's been awhile since a woman came up to me with a question mark."

"A little humbling?" The lawyer asked while taking a sip of her Vodka and Grape Nehi.

"Humility's good from time to time as long as you also remember that the real path to success is hard work and not at all a little risk and daring." Okay, the good looking stranger certainly had her; her curiosity was piqued, she was interested in the profession game, and he most certainly was easy on the eyes. That smile was a melter, for sure. "Three guesses? The actress one shouldn't count. It came before the contest."

"Alright, three guesses for you, and three guesses for me." Jenn agreed. Now she was wondering how this would play out, but she wasn't losing interest.

"Tech entrepreneur." The man guessed first, almost right off the bat. She was about to say _no_, but then realized that she was setting herself up right in that field, wasn't she?

"That might be true in a few weeks. I'll give you the freebie." She saw the earring stud in the man's left earlobe, and noted that it had a small gem in it. A diamond stud on a man? Longish hair while wearing a suit? In-crowd with swagger? "Musician."

"Tssss… okay, I'll give it to you that I _use_ to be a professional musician. I'll give you the freebie." Jenn couldn't help herself, she giggled a little. _Oh God please don't sound like some empty-headed tart!_ "Possibly a future tech entrepreneur. New to New York, straight outta Compton," that had her snort, "crushing work load.

"Lawyer."

"Now-you-get-to-guess-the-tyyyypppe." Jennifer sing-songed, making the man groan and shake his head, but that heart-melting smile was there. Oh yeah, she had him in the palm of her hand. _Think I found some company for the early evening, at the very least_, Walters thought amusedly. "Former professional musician, kept the look _mostly_," the man smiled at that, "bad boy in a good job. Cleaned up a little, but kept it rough on the edges. Disk Jockey."

"That's… really close. Criminally so." He winced. So he was in communications, former musician, probably was on the radio but not as a disk jockey…

_Wait… nonono, former musician that's a talk show host on radio…_

_Holy shit! I know who this is!_

"Are you Rick Jones?" Jenn asked, boggled.

"Took you that long, huh?" Oh God, that conceded answer was almost infuriating except that it was followed by that smile and those baby browns. _Damn it, I think I giggled again,_ Jenn realized as she also discovered she was almost out on her drink, too. She was going to need another one as she found herself standing in front of the lead singer, guitarist, and songwriter for the popular (but sadly defunct) grunge band _A-Bomb_. That had been her favorite band back in High School, and now she was _flirting_ with the guy she had posters of in her room as a teenaged woman. Her sixteen-year old self would be doing backflips and shouting _dude, seriously!_ and pointing right towards the man in question with an insistent look on her face.

Jenn found herself _kinda_ agreeing with her younger self.

"So am I guessing the lawyering gig? Can't say I know of any other lawyers except the ones in our HR department. And they all suck and ooze soullessness." Jenn had to snort at that one.

"I don't think I'll torture you _too_ much having to guess a multiplitarian lawyer whose in the process of opening her own company. That's just too weird." The lawyer smiled, getting that smile again. That smile and the booze were going to do her in. "Buying?" Jenn lifted her glass and shook it for emphasis.

"Absolutely." Ah, she wasn't the only one interested. "Do I get a name?"

"It's Jennifer Walters. But you can call me Jenn." The Esquire said to Rick as they turned back towards the bar.

She was pretty certain that this evening's next stop would likely be getting off at the Sealy Station.

* * *

Author's Note: Utterly shocked by the amount of reads, faves, favorites, and reviews I'm getting for a story that just hit… its fifth day? Usually my stories take some time to build steam. This one went right out the gate with a rocket strapped to it. Thanks to all who support this endeavor as I type about 6,000 words a day on the next chapter while working on the outline. I have plots.

I wanted to include Harold 'Happy' Hogan for a couple of reasons, one being obviously he had parts in all three Iron Man movies as well as both Spiderman movies. Yet Jon Favreau was responsible not only for starting and setting the Marvel Cinematic Universe (as well as the gloriousness of the first two Iron Man movies), but was also pretty damn involved with several later movies, being a consultant in what he started. With Jon Faverau, Joss Whedon, James Gunn, and the Russo Brothers, we finally got what superhero movies should be; breathtaking jawdroppers of epic proportions. In the comics, Harold Hogan was a former boxer who was rather good at losing, and his biggest match was against Battlin' Jack 'The Devil' Murdock (father of Matthew Murdock… Daredevil's father). I included some of the comic with the movie; you see Happy and Tony training in a ring, and certainly Happy got to beat up _just one guy_ in Iron Man 2 while Nat went through the rest like a lawnmower playing with the grass on Memorial Day.

Actually, I don't know if having a Federal-level Law License will grant one the ability to practice law in other countries; likely not, as every nation has its own laws. If, as an American citizen visiting another country, you got in trouble with the host nation and you go to the Embassy/Consulate for legal purposes, you are likely going to be referred to a local attorney who may be on good terms with the Consulate, and perhaps receive legal advice. It is probably true that someone, like Jenn, would have to have a certified lawyer of that country 'head' the case while she is a secondary to represent her client; that does happen a lot, especially with international business, trade laws, and maritime laws. But for the purposes of this story, I'm bending the rules so that when Jenn goes to bat in the legal arena for one of the Avengers, she can do so as the lead chair.

Senator 'Gerald' Stern - Actually, the Senator from _Iron Man 2_ and _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ never had a first name (though he did represent Pennsylvania). So I took the first name of his actor, the late Garry Shandling, who had something like 19 Emmy's for his two shows, _It's Garry Shandling_ and _The Larry Sanders Show_. No, his first name isn't Gerald, but Garry Stern sounded… silly. The Senator was named after New York Radio Personality Howard Stern.

Armed Services Subcommittee On Emerging Threats And Capabilities - This is a real thing, and one of the 'permanent' subcommittees under the Armed Services Committees. What I listed is also true. Being on a Subcommittee is rather prestigious, especially Appropriations (which is the budget), Armed Services (military), and the Select Intelligence Committee.

Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned - William Congreve, _The Mourning Bride_, 1697. For prosperity.

A little about the lawyering world. I actually do know a thing or two about insurance companies and insurance law (literally, perhaps just a thing or two) as my father was an insurance adjuster and I grew up listening to him talk about his day at the dinner table. And yes, I actually listened.

I dropped an Easter Egg. Let's see who finds it. Not super obvious, not super subtle, but it's there, and some of you might find yourselves looking forward to it.

The eye's turning neon green for the Hulk Change I believe comes from the television show exclusively; I don't know if the comics ever had that. Bill Bixby (who played Doctor David Banner) would get those bright green eyes, a billow of smoke and a giant of a man with torn clothing and HELLO LOU FERRIGNO! _The Incredible Hulk_ (TV) had about 5 seasons and a few made-for-TV movies, very popular for its day. To this day, Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno are generally included in a wide variety of Hulk appearances, and I believe that Lou's voice is still the one used for the Hulk (thought it is dubbed with Mark Ruffalo's as well).

The Boltzman is a real club in Brooklyn, New York.

Does anyone else remember Nehi besides me? I haven't seen one of those in decades. And in Earth-616, the Grape Nehi was Jenn Walter's favorite drink.

The joke about Jenn Walters possible being _Red Sonja_ is a bit of an inside joke; Marvel Comics talked about doing _She-Hulk_ as a movie back in the Eighties, and had photos of Brigitte Neilsen as a possible actress. Brigitte Neilsen was the lead actress in the move _Red Sonja_, and is rather tall for a woman. BTW, don't bother watching it; it's terrible.

Rick Jones? Yes, the guy who was responsible (somewhat) for the creation of the Hulk in the Comicverse, driving in a New Mexico desert and onto a test site. Rick's got a rather weird history (having thirty plus years of existence in a comic book will have lots of strange things happen to you). He plays a guitar and did do a talk show, so I went with a rather amusing history; former grunge band named after his comic book alter ego, A-Bomb. Considering that Jenn is 32 in 2012, that means she was born in 1980… perfect for the Grunge Era.


	7. The Legal Has Landed, II

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, May 28, 2012**

_+17 Days after the Battle of New York, Memorial Day_

Author's Notes: 1,000 reads in 6 days? I must have done something right. Love and props for all the faves, follows, reviewers, and anyone who looked at the summery and went _no freaking way!_ This story has become my fastest popular story, and might break my personal best monthly record (set with _Mass Effect: Of Lions And Angels'_ ARC known as **The Battle Of LaGrange Point Two (Feros)** of 3,700+ views in a month). I have already conquered NANOWRIMO (but for June), already topping 50,000 words for this story in approximately a week.

BTW, I wrote 'the chapter'. I think you know which I might be referring to concerning whom the main character is. But we still have a movie to plow through before I reach it.

* * *

Trying to creep back home was best left to teenage daughters who went out when they weren't suppose to. Trying to creep back into one of the most secured and observed buildings in the world was an exercise best left to super spies like James Bond or Jason Bourne. Trying to creep back home when home was located somewhere in the top ten floors of Stark Tower, populated with a couple of neurotic superheroes, hosting an ever-vigilant AI, temporarily headquartering a secret clandestine Agency, and owned by a multi-billionaire who got a kick out of digging for dirt just to exasperate people? That was evidently left for Southern Californian lawyers who just spent a three-day holiday weekend with a man they had just met that Friday night.

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., felt the elevator stop at the eighty-ninth floor to see the doors opening up to reveal a redhead.

_Oh God, please do _not_ let this turn out to be a Walk of Shame…_

"So." Natasha Romanoff was smiling way too big and her green eyes wayyyyy too bright. It was like the cat who caught the canary. Or the spider the fly. Jenn wasn't exactly thrilled with either reference. "Good weekend?"

"You're asking me like I wasn't tailed, my cell phone tracked, and probably satellite imagery, too." Walters shot off, feeling a little burlesque. She was a grown woman, not some teenage girl who ran around with a boy that horrified fathers. "And yes, good weekend."

"_Very_ good?" There was a smirk on those ruby red lipsticked lips, an eyebrow going up, the look all-too knowing. "Very… _fulfilling_?"

"Who put you up to this? Clint or Tony?"

"Neither, actually." The only female member of the Avengers replied, the smirk still there. "Tony spent all weekend playing with ChiTech and coming up with improvements for his new Mark VIII Iron Man suit. Clint took some time off himself, and only just came back. I kept soft tabs on you just in case something happened, nothing invasive. But I do have to ask…

"Rick Jones? How the hell did you pull that one off?" The redhead asked with a smile. The tone said it all; she was impressed.

_I'm about to have girl talk with the Black Widow_, Jenn realized as she exited the elevator with Natasha right by her side as the lawyer headed towards 'her' bedroom. Sooner or later she was going to have to call a realty agent to look for a condo or something in the City for her, but that would mean dealing with the pain of entering and exiting the containment area of Midtown twice a day. Moving out could be put on hold for the time being.

"Boltzman Club, and he came onto yours truly." Walters relented and told the spy. "I wouldn't have suspected you would be an _A-Bomb_ fan."

"I had all their CD's. It was… after grunge." The redhead admitted, and Jenn was more than wise enough to leave it at that. "Still good looking?"

"Almost criminally." It was Jenn's turn to smirk as they made their way to the guest wing where most of the members of the Avengers stayed. "And yes, _very_ good and _very_ fulfilling."

"I can tell. You're glowing still." Romanoff was certainly amused. What was that saying about others living vicariously what they couldn't do themselves? Jenn heavily suspected that Natasha probably had some relationship hang-ups concerning her… suspected past. In that, the Esquire wouldn't blame her if half of what she suspected was true. The Black Widow probably couldn't really trust or endure herself to a stranger, so her coping mechanism was likely the sister act with or for someone else. It wasn't the most fun thing to have around, but Jenn thought about what General Thaddeus Ross had wanted out of her cousin; the creation of the 'Super Soldier', the ultimate killing machine. The _Juris Doctor_ didn't have a doubt in her mind that was _exactly_ what someone had done with Natasha Alianovna Romanoff, turned what was likely a young girl into a sleeper cell agent, an espionage operative, or a precision assassin. Likely, all three. Keeping tabs on her 'friends' and enjoying what she probably couldn't bring herself to do was likely Natasha's version of fun. Scary thought, but Jenn would allow it. Natasha Romanoff _was_ the one to shut off the portal and stop the Chitauri Invasion after all; not a God, not a man of iron, not a super soldier… a normal, if exceptionally trained, human woman.

"That's probably because the whole '_parting is such sweet sorrow_' evolved to '_where did you shoot my bra off to?_'." While it hadn't been exactly that, it hadn't been that far off, either. Jenn had spent a good deal of a three-day weekend with Richard Milhouse Jones and his condominium in Tribeca. Mornings were spent very much in each others' company, moving onto showers together and breakfast. Days got reserved for tourists attractions, Rick taking Jenn to see some of the world-famous sights in New York, ranging from Lower Manhattan to Central Park. Lunches and dinners were done at a variety of restaurants in a city where _every_ ethnic-flavor could be found from Afghani to Zimbabwean, different parts of the city hosting so many different cultures and rarities. Evenings were entertainment as Rick showed Jenn more than a few locations where in-crowd couples could be found, and Jenn didn't find any real issue with that particular line of thought as they club-hopped New York City. Between the lights and the many attractions, Jennifer Walters found herself becoming quite attached to the Big Apple, so different from LA. Nights were spent in each others arms, and Jenn would never, _ever_ admit to Natasha that being with Rick almost made her feel like that teenage girl again, special inside and a dream come true.

A girl had to have her secrets. Likely, the redhead suspected. Probably why she was still smirking.

"Heya, Jenn." Doctor Robert Bruce Banner was padding down the same hallway as they, but in the opposite direction, looking at a StarkTab before noticing the two women. "Good weekend, I take it?" The lawyer merely looked to Natasha and signaled to the other woman that this would be a private conversation between family members. The redhead pretended to pout with those ruby-red lips of hers, but winked regardless before walking off. Jenn had to remind herself to pat anything and everything she owned for listening devices. Just to be safe.

"Yeah, sightseeing and… I think I met someone." Before the incident, it hadn't been unusual for Bruce and Jenn to talk with one another about such things. She remembered his relationship with Doctor Elizabeth Ross, and he remembered her almost-marriage with John Jameson. "Still early to tell, but certainly a weekend worth remembering."

"Considering the hours and work you put in, I'm glad you got something to show for it." Jenn almost winced at that, knowing that Bruce… couldn't. They both knew what triggered a transformation; adrenaline and adrenal responses. While most people knew that nerves and neurons traveled exceptionally fast, almost seemingly instantaneous, the body's chemical processes were a great deal slower. Fear and anger were emotional states that occurred in the mind, true, but the triggering of adrenaline was a chemical process that originated in the adrenal glands, people feeling the cold 'wash' of dilation that was the fight-or-flight instinct as everything in the body became momentarily heightened and increased. A panic attack could trigger a transformation for her cousin, and while it hadn't been tested out, Bruce worried that a spike in heart rate could also do the same. It would be extremely unfortunate if in the throes of passion, the Hulk emerged. That would be… messy. "Hey, I'm happy for you, kid. It's good to see you with a smile on your face."

"Thank you. I just… hate bringing up the things that you can't do anymore or we worry about. It feels like rubbing it in or dangling it in front of you." Jenn admitted. It was akin to teasing someone with a disability; one just didn't do those kinds of things. Bruce had to live a regimented life, and bringing up things that he couldn't do anymore just seemed wrong.

"At first, yeah, that was a bit of how I felt when I saw other people." The physicist replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I know you might not agree with me on this one, but… I earned a little of this." Walters was about to debate that, but her cousin held up his hand. "Jenn, I knew what that Project was about; recreating the Super Soldier Serum. Yes, Ross was the asshole that turned a noble effort into a next-generation weapons project, but I still signed up for it." The Esquire frowned at that. That was… hard to countermand. "I've thought about it. I know I felt like I was the only one who _could_ do it, and I felt like I was doing it for noble reasons." Jenn's Dad, Sheriff Morris Walters, practically worshiped everything that was Captain America. That had transfered to his nephew when they took in Bruce. "I could have walked away knowing they never would have succeeded. Yes, it might have still ended up a disaster or, worse, a bunch of failed human experiments because someone skipped out on the ethics portion of the exam," that had the Esquire snort, "but I could have sabotaged it like Odysseus' wife, made bad batches, inserted errors into formulas that no one else was solving but me. I… was a part of it. I might not like the burden I bear, but it is the burden I was a part of and earned. Anyone else…?" Bruce shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, might be the thing we feared Ross would want or something even worse." That had certainly come in the form of the Abomination. Jenn knew what Bruce was saying. To stop uninformed test subjects in the form of volunteer soldiers soldiers told they were going to be the next Captain America but end up genetic soup ranging from minor defects to living horrors. Both Bruce and Jenn knew what happened after _Project: Rebirth_ happened, the United States Government using African-American Soldiers to recreate the Super Soldier Serum that they only had pieces of, only five of three hundred surviving the horrific project. Doctor Bruce Banner had dug up the location of its only survivor, Isaiah Bradley, who had been sentenced to life in prison in 1943 and was pardoned by President David Eisenhower on the day of President John Kennedy's inauguration. Bruce had heard the man's story, having not aged a day in sixty years, and yet not forgetting what had happened to his fellow human beings in the name of science. Doctor Bruce Banner had sworn up and down to the _black_ Captain America that he would never, ever let that happened.

Bruce had kept his word. Like the man whom he gave that promise to, her cousin suffered for it.

"C'm here, you." Jenn pulled Bruce in for a hug, still having to make up for eight years of absences and fretting over the man she had seen as a brother and a hero, knowing only in an academic manner what he suffered. "I'm going to be here for you, Bruce. You and the big guy." She whispered to him as she held him, feeling him _relax_. How he did it, she'd never know.

And until the day they could cure it, fix it, or at least change it until it was much more manageable, Jenn wouldn't leave his side again.

* * *

Tuesday had come, and the first of several legal strikes were sent like laser-guided bombs.

Jennifer Walters said that the strikes in question, being subpoenas, inquests, counter-suits, and legal injunctions, were meant for the clients in question to scramble. When one went head-to-head with an insurance company, dirty tactics were necessary as she filed for _direct representation_ of the chairmen of the Board of Directors of American Insurance Group, Shulman's Group, and the Hartmann Group. The lawyers of those companies would do what Jenn said they would do; file for extensions and clauses for legal representation. That would buy time.

Major Maria Jacoba Hill personally drove the Esquire to 60 Center Street where the New York State Supreme Court Building where the lawyer (whom Tony jokingly called _the Avenger-in-Law_) went to war on a legal scale that probably looked like a tactical nuclear strike on several fronts. Maria had to admit, Jenn didn't lack gumption.

"That was quick." The SHIELD Deputy Director of Operations said as she waiting for Jenn to leave one of the various courtrooms of the Supreme Court Building before noon, the woman in question having texted her that the proceedings (all seven of them) were complete.

"This was a play-for-time tactic." The Esquire replied as Hill took to the woman's side, noting the differences in Jenn from when she first met the woman the Sunday before last and today. The business suit that she wore was a business casual, but it exuded power and confidence, having been ordered from Nordstrom's catalog and shipped to a convenient location that _wasn't_ Stark Tower so the poor UPS or FedEx deliverer wouldn't have to suffer the containment entry procedures while driving a delivery vehicle. That was a process even worse than just attempting access with a personal vehicle for obvious reasons. "Insurance companies _hate_ cases, and will generally settle out-of-court instead of slugging it out and possibly paying more than is proper. You want to win against an insurance claim where you stand a chance? Sue them for a million dollars and you'll likely walk away with four hundred thousand dollars if you're patient."

"That sounds about right." She was reminded of that one woman who sued McDonald's' for spilling hot coffee on her own lap and walking away with a ridiculous amount of money because the coffee cup didn't declare coffee _hot_. What was really mind-boggling was that the case had a jury; twelve people in a jury box had agreed to that retardation! Jenn had mention that about two-thirds of 'lawyering' was the art of the jury selection. Typical lawyer bullshit; slam cops for profiling people, but then turn around and exploit profiling to win cases. "How much time?"

"Four weeks for AIG, three for Shulman's and Hartmann's." Walters delivered as they walked through the plaza-like lobby of the Supreme Court Building, with its marbled floors, many circular staircases, and iconic displays of legality and justice. Really, it was a pit of vipers dressed in robes and suit. "That buys them time, and buys me time. They're going to join forces, pull out the big guns, and they're going to sweat me out while dangling a settlement in front of my face so Stark Industries and the Avengers don't get plastered all over the media. You'd be surprise how many will cave to the threat of a public relations disaster."

"No I wouldn't."

"No, I suspect you wouldn't be surprised." Jenn mused as they left the building, the taller woman having opened the door for Maria. Technically, Hill was Walters' 'protection' for the day. While no one really suspected that the Esquire had gotten onto anyone's shit list and wouldn't be recognized as one of the Avengers (hero or staff), it really was a matter of time. Chances were, that cat would be out of the bag in a few weeks or so with the creation of _Avengers, Incorporated_ and _The Avengers Foundation_ that was already filed through the state and the final approval being awaited for. Her name was clearly marked on that paperwork several times over, especially for 'founder' and the nominal position of 'Director'. Yes, someone could be voted officially later on without issue, but as Jenn put it, she was probably one of the few in the Penthouse that legally had enough separation from Stark Industries, SHIELD, and the Avengers themselves that could officially 'lead' without a thousand cases coming up against her with any involvement on her part. Her one real sin had been the extraction of her cousin Doctor Bruce Banner out of America nine years prior, and even SHIELD had no idea how she did it.

They had really lucked out with the lawyer.

"So what's next?" Hill asked as they walked down the flag steps of the court, seeing the warm weather had really brought out the Civic Center area into full bloom. One would have never known that there had been an alien invasion over two weeks prior.

"Meat. We're hiring." Jenn said with a smile as Maria led them to one of the government-oriented parking lots where a black 2011 Chevy Impala awaited them with government tags that were registered for the Department of Homeland Security. "There's no way in hell I can run an organization and fight all of its legal battles, too. One doesn't need a degree in business to start one, but it would be particularly stupid to run one that's probably going to be in the net worth of several million dollars in the next few days without a few certified public accountants, a couple of business managers, a couple of paralegals, some information distribution personnel, and a public relations officer. In terms of manager-to-employee ratio, we're probably going to have the worst ratio of overhead in existence with probably two dozen people to manage _six_." Maria snorted at that, but she found herself unable to counter anything Jenn was saying. "Then it's the team-building I need to work on.

"I need them to work _together_, not merely in the same general area at the same general time."

"Have a plan for that?" Hill asked as she pulled out the keys to the Impala and pressed the unlock button on the fob before she got into the drivers' seat while Jenn went to the passenger side. Jenn had a point; Tony and Thor alone had some rather substantial egos, and the team had done nothing but bicker and snipe at one another on the _Constellation_. The Battle of New York might have brought them together, but something needed to cement them into _staying_ together. Each of them had their issues and problems to solve (legal and otherwise), and they had remained for the aftermath of the Battle because, for the most part, the public adored them. But if one saw them in the Penthouse, not much time was spent bonding or as a team.

"The best way to get a bunch of guys into the same room is to put a pretty girl right at the front of it." Jenn smirked as she looked at the Agent. "Normally, you'd get someone who is oriented towards the same business or occupation to garner interest and cohesion; an expert who has the credentials to back up their methods. Sadly… there isn't really anyone out there who can hold a claim to that."

Well, there was Doctor Henry Pym.

While Maria didn't know the details, she knew that the Doctor had lost his wife stopping a nuclear Intercontinental Ballistic Missile, Janet Van Dyne giving her life saving America from a nuclear attack. It was a hell of a way to go, but that left a husband having to bury his wife and his heart. Hank had left SHIELD a year later, the Ant-Man Suit and its corresponding technology going out the door with him. As Maria understood it, Director Howard Stark had let it happen out of respect for the man who had fought for America and SHIELD for something like twenty years.

"There… might be someone. But he'll be highly resistant towards anything considered SHIELD or Stark." Hill said slowly as she put the car in reverse, backing out of the parking spot and began heading into the midday traffic of New York City. "I wouldn't guarantee response or politeness, but there was a man who crafted a technology on his own that let him safeguard the world and was SHIELD's… hmmm, let's just call him the _smallest_ trump card, that we had in our arsenal. After negotiations and politics failed, but before it came to bullets and war?

"We had the Ant-Man."

Maria knew Jenn was staring at her while her eyes were on the traffic.

"I don't know the details, but if there's someone who might understand what you're having to deal with? Someone who wants to stay out of SHIELD's hands but also do the job? Doctor Henry Jonathan Pym would be the man you might want to talk to." _Difficult_ would be an understatement, but that would be Jenn's cross to bear, unfortunately.

"I'll look into it."

* * *

Two hours later, Jennifer Walters sat in her very own personal office in Stark Tower. It didn't lack for money, technology, or posh.

Two weeks ago? She was writing dispositions and legal memos on normal cases as well as doing research on a damages suit involving some workers with questionable paperwork on the topic of being allowed in America. She had merited her own office before she left the Law Office of Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway, having earned it cutting her teeth on Personal Injury cases along with a slue of other ones that the Firm sent her way to make her a better lawyer. When she opened her own practice, Jenn continued the multi-disciplinarian routine and sent some of the minor cases to her two junior Associates that she had picked up from UCLA Law and Berkeley Law, intending the same. The corner office she had now on the ninety-second story of Stark Tower, residing in the Penthouse, and under only the Loft that was solely Tony's domain, Jenn Walters was, quite figuratively, sitting on top of the world.

Now she was looking at the convoluted legal nightmare that was _Captain America's paycheck_.

Seventy years of back pay as an O-3 through the United States Army equaled quite a bit, especially when back pay came at current dues and not historical ones. Eight hundred and forty months at fifty-seven hundred dollars each month equaled quite a lot. Four million and eight-hundred thousand dollars (give or take a few numbers for rounding), to be honest.

The man in question sat across from her in her office, on the other side of her ultramodern glass-and-metal desk. Captain Steven Grant Rogers looked stunned at the news. And the number.

"I'm a millionaire?" The Captain asked, his tone a little… apprehensive. Jenn had no idea what the average paycheck looked like back in 1942, but probably a dozen or so dollars a day was probably considered decent. Telling a man who use to pay a nickle for a gallon of gas that he now had nearly five _million_ dollars had certainly flummoxed the man.

"And that's not including the fact that people have more or less using 'Captain America' as a brand product for the past seventy years without bothering to get anyone's permission." Jennifer continued, Captain Rogers looking at her with a frown. He was just learning of the extent of the icon that Captain America had been post-World War Two. "Now I'm not going to start suing everyone under the sun; we'd never get anywhere. But what I am going to do is put a stop to unauthorized usages of your name and image by every politician and company under the sun. Not to mention the more extremist political parties, separatists, and wackos who think you stand for deportation of immigrants and the advocation of the Second Amendment in a more violent manner."

"Oh." Poor guy had woken up to a much different world, and the past three months hadn't been exactly kind to him. What had SHIELD done when they pulled him out of the Arctic Ocean? Stuffed him into a hole? The Esquire wasn't even sure if the Division had bothered to update him or even just getting him slowly back into the world. "I'm not exactly… comfortable with all that."

"Which is why you are here, and why I am talking to you about it." The lawyer replied with a smile. "You can donate that money to charity organizations if you feel like you don't want it or deserve it." That perked the Captain up a bit; something like that would certainly catch the notice of a World War Two-era man use to rationing and buying savings bonds. "The fact of the matter is that while you are of a unique status, people are going to want to use that to _their_ benefit. It's my job to prevent that, or at least unrestricted control of that. You are a hero for a great many people, Steve, but there was absolutely no control over who used you and what for. God knows several of the movies sucked."

"M-movies?" Oh boy.

"There's been… seven? Eight?" Jenn winced at that. Had no one gotten around to telling Captain Rogers that there were feature films about him, the first one back in the early-50's, a black-and-white montage that looked like a poor boxers' reel? "I… assume that either Howard Stark or Peggy Carter had some sort of say or legality involved in it. The concept of Captain America seemed to be much more under controlled for about thirty years or so until the Republican Party began using some jackass in your costume to promote their policies for Reganomics."

"Rega… what?"

"Oh, when Ronald Regan was President. It's…", _ancient history_ was what she was about to say, but Jenn recovered herself from that tactless observation, "a moot point. People have been using you from selling cereal for children to promoting racist propaganda for seventy years, Captain. Now that you're up and awake, it _should_ be up to you on how that image is managed. There's a whole new generation of little boys up there now listening to their granddaddies talk about you with renewed interest, after all. Little girls, too."

"Yeah, kids." Steve looked to one side of the new office, one that Jenn hadn't really had time to decorate that much. There was a desk and a computer that was well-above what she could find on the shelf at a computer store, and not one filing cabinet or bookshelf, everything digital. There was an entire digital library that she had jokingly called LCARS where Jenn could pull up just about anything she wanted on either the Stark servers, being guarded by what an actual _fucking_ Artificial Intelligence named JARVIS. _Beam me up, Scottie_ was her general code phrase whenever she used the elevator. "Might be a bit antiquated." Rogers observed.

"Maybe we could use the reminder. A fresh perspective of a time when men and women were expected to do more." Walters offered, making the super soldier look thoughtful. "Besides, just because you're considered the '_perfect_' soldier doesn't mean you're only just a soldier. Your generation had actors and baseball players who served, came back home, and went to become great men that the public adored." There was an entire generation of athletes, actors, politicians, business owners, and figures of note who were just that, the Greatest Generation driving America forward for the next thirty plus years. No less than _seven_ Presidents had served in some capacity during World War Two, including George Herbert Walker Bush being the youngest Naval Aviator, John Fitzgerald Kennedy a Navy Cross-recipient, and David Dwight Eisenhower a five-star General that was in charge of the European Theater. "Perhaps we've all gotten a little blase and jaded, distracted by technology and whatnot. Perhaps we could do with a little more good old-fashion moral fiber and a gold standard to set the bar. Charities, volunteer work, getting people involved. Being a hero doesn't always require a uniform, after all. But it does require giving out a helping hand."

"That's… actually pretty good." The time-displaced man replied, a bit of a goofy grin on his face.

"My dad, actually. He was a Sheriff in California, pretty huge fan of yours, like most of his generation." Sheriff Morris Walters had grown up with the stories of the Howling Commandos, those paragons of freedom and manliness. Jenn had watched all those movies with her Dad when she was a little girl, and she wasn't embarrassed to admit to it. Her Dad had looked up to those heroes, and to Jenn, her Dad was the hero. She went into Law based upon his work and efforts enforcing it, taking the courtroom venue as her means to do so. "Get yourself some ideas on what you'd like and run with it. World is out there, and it's not going to wait around for you to get off your ass." Steve frowned at that. Oh yes, lady language. "Kinda digging the thought of seeing you as a little league coach or a Boy Scout Troop Master. I'm trying to imagine earning a merit badge for… dear God, anything from Captain America. In my mind, it's worth so much more when you _don't_ have to pay for it."

"I'll look into something like that." She certainly noted that Rogers perked up at the idea of being a hero for kids. Hell, George Herman Ruth had been a drunken lecher and kids had absolutely _adored_ the Babe. Something like that wouldn't happen today with social media outlets like Twitter and Facebook… not that Steve had any ideas what those were. _Poor guy needs a modern liaison_, she thought sadly as she watched the _very_ well-defined physique of Captain Steve Rogers leave her office, putting just about ever man in existence to shame. It was strange to think that _Tony Stark_ was the 'smallest' of the men amongst the Avengers, still being quite athletic but not super-defined. Well, he did have a suit of some sort of gold/titanium alloy with a power core attached to his chest.

Well, the easy assignment was done. Now it was onto the dregs of legal minute involving an extradition case against a certain archer and events in Germany. And then evidently _the Black Widow_ was being sued by a Russian 'businessman' with more shady business than a third-world dictatorship. And then there were the suits against the Avengers themselves, numbering at least four hundred. There was a punitive case where several persons 'traumatized' by the attack were blaming the Avengers (under the impression that they had manufactured the attack, absurdly), the damages to the city one, another where the the city's insurance manager was suing for future repartitions, and several businesses joining forces to get compensation due to building damages when a Chitauri Leviathan crashed into their structures by either flight or force. And then there was the fact that the Hulk put rather meaty fists in a ton of buildings jumping back and forth.

Actually, Jenn could solve most of those in a few months with a list of inquiries, subpoenas, drafts, and some legal finagling. Perhaps the thought of having the threat of the Incredible Hulk (and not Doctor Bruce Banner) on the stand as a material witness might prove a credible force into scaring off most of the money-grabbers (she shouldn't think that way, but it did make her chuckle). But Jennifer didn't doubt that it would be the last she would have to deal with the New York attack. Like the tried-and-true torts cases such as mesothelioma or asbestos, someone was always trying to start a case; be it a damaged party or some law office looking to make some easy money with cheap commercials to pull in the class-action tours cases. Plenty of people ready to jump on that bandwagon to make a buck, forgetting that torts lawyers took their forty percent cut first and spread the rest over the many liable cases, some people ending up with mere thousands of dollars when tens of thousands of dollars worth of punitive damages had been done. Practically legal piracy, but lawyers got away with it all the time.

Jenn sighed as she looked at her next line of business; the 'buy out' of her personal practice in Southern California.

Jame Morgan, her oldest subordinate, had been told the news about what she was doing, and had tentatively offered both him, her other associate Veronica Rylee, and several of the staff of Walters and Associates retainer services for what was to become _Avengers, Incorporated_, while her personal self was to end up in the Tower. Her poor secretary Linda Carter was probably going to need a big raise for all the work that was about to come her way since Jenn hadn't had time to get herself a staff in New York. Might have been smarter to have them work here, but that would require everyone picking up and moving their entire lives to the State of New York (or in close proximity of it). Jenn would need a legal team, and though they didn't _have_ to be in the Tower, the distance and time zone differences were telling.

Too much to do, only so many hands to do them with. Not to mention she had an appointment with _Norway_.

No use daydreaming about that now; she had a lot of work to do. And a nation to take to court in the name of a Norse God.

It was time to bring the thunder, so to speak.

* * *

Author's Note: Isaiah Bradley was, in fact, a Captain America invented in 2003 explain the origins of a 40's-Era retest of the Super Soldier Serum. Marvel Comics Retconned several Captain Americas and Bucky Barnes to cover the various 'resurrections' into being people who were look-alikes but generally didn't last very long. I think there were four Captain Americas and five Bucky Barnes going up to the Vietnam War. Isaiah Bradley is the grandfather of Elijah 'Eli' Bradley/Patriot of the Young Avengers, a recipient of his grandfather's blood when Eli took a gunshot for Captain America/Steve Rogers. Isaiah lost his mind while in solitary confinement for seventeen years, regressing to a child-like state. Like Steve Rogers, he ages quite slowly.

Doctor Pym is being introduced early on. I think some of you might figure out why.

If one is captured or declared missing in action while serving in the US Military, that person still draws a paycheck. If they are reported as killed in action but are found otherwise alive (and not having ran off and faked their death), the same is true (though I don't know if it has happened, but I suspect so). So Prisoners of War (say, John McCain, one of the most famous ones) was paid for his time in service while a POW for North Vietnam. Captain Rogers technically never left the Army, was reported killed in action, but found to have survived but incapacitated. Legally, he would be paid for his 'service' as a Capsicle, reinstated at the time of his reported KIA, and then summarily paid every month thereafter until his revival and potential discharge.

Biofan09 offered me a course correction about the blurb concerning _Liebeck vs. McDonald's_, or the _McDonald's Hot Coffee Lawsuit_. McDonald's coffee was served hotter than everyone else's, the woman in question did get third-degree burns and skin grafts, and was ultimately awarded $640,000 in punitive damages by the judge instead of the $2.86 million that the jury bumped it up to (the original case was for medical, which was $160,000, but the jury jumped punitive damages to $2.6 million). There was an obvious smear campaign turning this case into the poster child of what was ugly about torts cases and was used to spearhead torts reform. Stella Liebeck (who passed away in 2004, nearly a decade later) unfortunately was labelled as the problem when she had tried to settle with McDonald's several times out-of-court (McD's initially offered $800 for $10,000 worth of medical damages) but McD's said they had no involvement with the incident itself; the car was parked, the lid was labeled as 'hot', and the woman did dump the 180 degree F coffee into her own lap. The news picked up the case and reported it rather erroneously due to word count limit (for news papers) and time limit (for television). Sorry, no Onion Reporter, Yahoo News!, or social media back in the Dial-Up Internet Age of 1994!

For a good long while, the _Stella Award_ was a semi-fictitious awarded to frivolous lawsuits in commemoration.

Norway vs. Thor is next! It's Hammer Time!


	8. The Legal Has Landed, III

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**Stark Industries' Challenger Bombardier 300, Heading East By Northeast, Somewhere Over The Atlantic, May 30, 2012**

_+19 Days after the Battle of New York_

Author's Note: And now… a legal drama. Let me put on my John Gresham hat on and get ready to type out a couple of chapters _Law and Order_-style!

*Dunn-Dunn!*

* * *

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., shared a private jet with four other people; a demigod, an astrophysicist, an astrologer, and a PoliSci intern. One of them wasn't wearing pants.

"So how do you like mortal flying, Thor?" That one was Darcy Katherine Lewis, a political science major at Culver University who still had a year left before earning her Masters. Also the only person on the planet Earth to have gotten completely away with tazing a deity.

"Slower. But it comes with drinks!" That was Thor, Son of Odin, Prince of Asgard, Heir to the Throne of the All-Fathers. He was currently in his 'mortal' disguise of a simple t-shirt and jeans, and was wielding a mighty bottle of imported Swedish mead. _Mjølnir_ sat in front of his cushioned seat so no one tripped over it. It wouldn't be moved by the tripping, one would just trip over it as if it were a portable curb and rub bruised toes. He had a 'mortal' passport that read _Donald Blake, MD_ that had evidently been a bit of a forged identity that had been used to help Thor escape SHIELD custody once upon a New Mexico ago. It was now legitimate despite that that there was, in fact, a Doctor Donald Blake on Earth other than the Son of Odin.

"I'm just surprised to learn that you don't actually need to breath." Doctor Jane Natalie Foster said as she worked on an Apple iBook, switching from typing computations and reviewing what appeared to be high-level mathematics involving astrophysics manipulations. Jane had been tentatively offered a job with the _Foundation_, considering that she might be the first human being to actually invent a wormhole. She was also the only person on the planet to have gotten away with running over a deity with a car. Twice.

"What do you think the Bifrost used for air?" That was Professor Erik Stellan Selvig, currently attired in _mostly_ appropriate clothing, of one didn't mind a buttoned shirt, a tweed jacket, and a pair of shorts. The Dean of Astrophysics and Astrology in Culver University, he was currently on sabbatical thanks to his unfortunate involvement against his will with Loki. He actually _had_ invented a wormhole thanks to the asshole who dropped a portion of an alien armada onto New York City. He too had been tentatively offered a job with the _Foundation_.

Oddest… flight… ever.

"Thor, I'm going to go over some of the detail of the case with you so you know what might likely happen." Jenn addressed the Asgardian as she looked up from her own laptop, going through the accounts of several people, ranging from the three eyewitnesses she would be allowed to use (Darcy, Jane, and Erik) as well as eyewitness testimonies and accounts pertaining to the events in Puente Antiguo. Somehow, she was going to have to use the term _giant killer robot_ in a court case with a straight face while enduring snickers. Thankfully, there were photographs and video footage thanks to SHIELD.

"Of course. Protocols must be held in court." The blonde Asgardian replied with a smile, and Jenn started having a bad feeling about this.

"So, as your defense attorney," Walters began, "it will be my job to do the talking. I will be… like your emissary." Thor nodded at that, seemingly understanding what she was referencing to considering that the Son of Odin didn't know of anything about the various court systems in the world. "I will defend your character, your lineage, your actions, and your honor. The other side will have an attorney, too. He or she will be known as a Councilor, and will represent Norway."

"You will be defending me from a Midgardian nation?" Thor sounded impressed. Ugh, it was like trying to talk to someone from the Dark Ages. Thor was a nice guy, just… a few centuries removed from current understanding.

"In a legal or court proceeding, yes." The Esquire replied, trying not to reflect on the growing migraine this might be. "Think of this as a negotiation. There will be two parties and a judging authority to settle disputes and recognize the pieces involved who can either accept or cast them out of play. No one's going to doing physical battle with us. It will be more of a contest of words and verbal manipulation." That had the God of Thunder thoughtful for a moment.

"My father spoke to me that being a King means that battles and contests come in many forms and arenas, not necessarily the martial ones." Thor was looking out of one of the small windows to the sky outside. "The Allfather is a great warrior, having fought for the Nine Realms to stop the _Joten_ from dominating several Realms of Yggdrasil, including this one. And yet he spoke to me of peace, of understanding. When I was younger, I did not understand. Sometimes, I still don't."

"Did you know I'm a pacifist?" Jenn asked, Thor looking to her with some confusion. "Most people attribute that to meaning that I _won't_ fight, but that isn't true. No, I find ways and methods of success that won't resort to violence, finding ways to mitigate a bad situation into a more peaceful solution. Do you feel a man should be killed for making a mistake, having a bad day, or an error of judgment?"

"While it depends on the action, I agree that one must look at things to see them clearly for what they are. Some things cannot be reversed… death being one of them." The God of Thunder nodded. "You do no harm?"

"I didn't say that. I just said I find methods of success that won't resort to violence. But there are people who will cause harm to others as the first option, and those kinds of people generally aren't going to stop or entertain peace or a ceasefire. For them, violence is generally the only appropriate way to deal with them if they are not captured." Jenn explained. "Your brother is a prime example in something that is best left to your people. We might have the means to detain him, but we certainly don't have the means to contain him. If we leave him on Earth for too long and people begin realizing it…

"We'll be forced to kill him. And I'm not sure that's going to be a scenario that's going to work out in our favor." As much as Jenn would love to see Loki Wolfsblood pay for his crimes, it was unreasonable to think that anything on Earth could detain a God of Trickery who was experienced with magic and manipulation. Yes, he had certainly done enough on America to warrant the Death Penalty, but who was to say how long it might be? How badly the trial might go? What kind of idiot might try to free Loki for some sort of insane plot and let loose a very pissed off demigod? Hell, was lethal injection even going to work? According to Major Maria Hill, pistol rounds had just bounced off of him. Earth _might_ have the means, but Asgard most certainly did. No doubt millions might want to see Loki dead, but Jenn had looked at the whole thing with a clear head and the evidence presented.

Loki was going to be sent back to Asgard for trial and containment, where it was both ensured and as a token of goodwill to the Realm of Asgard. Loki was the adopted son of Odin Allfather, King of Asgard. Just killing the God of Trickery out of spite might not be the wisest of moves, so Jenn had convinced the Avengers of that fact along with the evidence supporting it. She knew that Clint Barton would not be amused at all considering what had happened to him, but he had actually quickly supported the decision by saying '_the sooner off of Earth he is, the better off everyone will be_'. That had more-or-less secured everyone else's acceptance. Thankfully, SHIELD's Director of Operations, Nicholas Fury, didn't have any qualms with the decision either considering he was responsible for Loki's current classified incarceration and protection. _No one_ wanted the worlds' criminals, organizations, or terrorists knowing where the Son of Laufrey was or if he were accessible. The last thing anyone needed was an airplane full of hostages and a public announcement of Loki's desired released all over the world.

But before Loki would be allowed to leave, there was the matter of Thor's paternity and Godhood. That actually had to be solved first.

The last thing Jenn needed was a bunch of people of people trying to legally rip apart everything that happened in New York and pissing off the man Thusday had been named after.

"So what will you be doing while I'm fighting in your behalf, Thor?"

"Sitting?" The Prince replied, Jenn motioning him to continue. "Being quiet?" He frowned for a moment as the lawyer wiggled a finger to indicate there was one more thing to include. "Only doing as I'm told?"

"See? You'll make a great King one day." Jennifer smiled at the God of Thunder. "All you got to do is listen to a woman."

* * *

**C.J. Hambros Plass 4, Oslo, Norway, June 1, 2012**

"_Alle stige!"_ The Norwegian bailiff called out in his native language as Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., stood up when everyone else did so in the _Tingritt_ District Court of the Oslo Courthouse of Norway. It was here that criminal and civil court cases were heard in one of its fifty-four courtrooms, and this particular one that would be the host to the beloved Norse God of Thunder; Thor, Son of Odin and Prince of Asgard. Yesterday had been the preliminaries and jury selection, and surprisingly the date had been set for the very next day.

Norway was moving fast on this.

The belated '_all rise_' came to her ear piece thanks to Tony Stark developing a cell phone-like device that would work like a translator for her, installed with a dictionary and full phrases in Norwegian for her to understand everything without having to resort to a court-appointed translator who may or may not be well-versed in English. It had a smaller version of a Natural Language Program like JARVIS was, save that all it did was communicate into her ear into English and then speak Norwegian from the cell phone-like device when she spoke. She told the inventor to patent it and _The Avenger Foundation_ could immediately market the thought of a business-oriented translation component to earn the Avengers legitimate money. This was its' so-called field test.

A large, older man wearing a white wig appeared into the court room, dressed in a black robe. This was the Magistrate who would officiate the _criminal_ trial. That had been a piece of legal trickery that the State of Norway had decided to use in their favor without informing the defense. That _should_ have the case be judged a mistrial, but after talking to her 'client' (a motion had been approved during the preliminary that Jenn couldn't even call him _Thor_), they decided to go ahead with the trial.

Jenn got it; the Norse God Thor was an extremely popular deity in Scandinavia and its peoples. If someone had just started jumping around and called themselves 'Jesus, Son of God', there'd be a row, too.

"_Be seated."_ The Magistrate proclaimed after taking his seat at the bench, looking like an English Magistrate with the wig.

"_This court is now in session,"_ the Norwegian bailiff called out, _"the Honorable Svendsen presiding over the case of the person claiming to be Thor, Son of Odin verses the Kingdom of Norway."_

Yeah, Jenn hadn't even known Norway still had a king. For a _Kingdom_ where clergy members were still state employees and the separation between Church and State was more of a suggestion, this whole trial was turning into a kangaroo court. What was worse? Sitting right behind the prosecution's table, in the very front row of the full-to-capacity trial was none other than Haakon, the Crown Prince of Norway. That said things without words.

It was also being televised. Heavily.

All this was immediate grounds for dismissal… in America. Which they weren't in, unfortunately.

"_Is the prosecution ready?" _Magistrate Svendsen asked from the bench. Jenn was really missing the sight of Lady Justice and the Red, White, and Blue right about now.

"_We are, your Honor."_ That was Jorne Haraldsen, _the_ Royal District Attorney for Norway. Not an Assistant District Attorney, not some random _Juris Doctor_ from off the street. No, the hand-appointed-by-the-King-of-Norway-Himself DA. The man was pushing seventy, but looked like a well-aged lion. Walters briefly wondered if he was nobility or not. This was Europe, after all.

"_Is the defense ready?"_ '_No_' should have been the appropriate response. But the last thing anyone would want is to have some nice Norwegian police officers trying to remand the Crown Prince of Asgard into custody. Things would get ugly after that.

"_Ja, din Ære."_ Jennifer replied in her _very_ limited Norwegian, having learned what she could in just a few short days. She was just happy that the translator that Tony had invented for her seemed to be working as advertise. "We are ready." The cell phone-like device replied in Norwegian in a semi-synthetic female tone. Jenn briefly wondered if it sounded as if it had a British accent.

"_Herr Haraldsen, you may proceed."_

"_Good morning, _Herrs und Fraulins_,"_ the Royal District Attorney addressed the court for his opening statement, standing up and standing right in front of the bench, the crowd, the Crown Prince, and the Kingdom, _"I am Herr Jorne Haraldsen, and it is my duty to see to it that the crime of pseudoapothesis by _this_ individual,"_ the elderly man addressed Jenn's 'client' who shall not be named, _"who claims to be an individual of our heritage and pantheon for generations, back to the time when it was we who ruled the sea and our warriors feared on sight."_ Jenn pegged it; this was religiously-motivated. Strange when the state religion was Lutheran and the Kingdom heavily 'suggesting' its civil servants being a part of the Church of Norway. _"This MAN claims to be the God of THUNDER!"_ Jenn placed a gentle hand on her clients' when he shifted in his chair beside her, wearing a professional suit instead of Asgardian battlearmor. _"This MAN claims to be the Son of ODIN!"_ Though no one spoke inside the courtroom, Jenn could almost feel the electricity in the air. _"This MAN claims to be THOR!"_ Jenn looked over to the jury box. It didn't look good for her. _"I will prove that this MAN, this… despicable creature! Makes mockery of our heritage, of the Gods that our forefathers believed in, the stories we were told as children to remind us of the strength and courage that each of us carry in our hearts! Of the wars our ancestors engaged in in the name of others! This MAN…"_ Haraldsen pointed right at her client, _"calls himself THOR!_

"_And the State will prove him wrong!"_

Herr Haraldsen took to his seat at the prosecutor's table with his team. Walters had to admit that the hand-picked man could certainly deliver an opening statement.

And now it was her turn.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," Jennifer took to her own feet, having the cell phone-like translator in her business suit jackets' breast pocket so the jury and the Magistrate could hear her, "my name is Jennifer Walters. Today you are going to be a witness. A witness to words, to deeds, to actions." She walked towards the jury box, close enough that she could see their eyes without getting too close. "You will be a witness to heritage and the modern era, to the past and the present, to war and peace. The State wishes to defend your heritage and Gods, and why not?" Jenn walked towards the prosecutors' table, dragging a single finger along its polished surface as she walked by. "There is a man claiming to be a member of the Norse Pantheon, a warrior and a hero, a Prince today and one day a King." She was now in front of her own table, and gave her client a subtle wink. "This man here, in fact." Jen turned from where she stood in front of the long-haired man who sat at his seat, thankfully silent. "The State doesn't want me to say his name. They don't want me to insinuate that in front of your _very_ presence… is a God." Jenn stalked towards the jury box. "A man who wields lightning. A man who soars through the skies. A man whose strength is renowned. A man whose courage is legendary." She was almost at the jury box, and she saw she held all of their attention. "The Crown Prince of Asgard, Defender of the Nine Realms, wielder of _Møljnir_, Son of Odin Allfather, King of Asgard.

"The God of Thunder." Jenn looked the jurors in the eyes. Despite the language barrier, she had them in the palm of her hand.

"I will prove to you that the stories are true," Jenn continued as she walked to her right, towards the prosecutors' table, making a slow circuit, "that the stories that your fathers told you when you were little… _were_ _not myth!_" That last word was punctuated with her slapping Herr Haraldsen's table emphatically. "That your _Gods_ are very real, that your ancestors were _right_." Her eyes were on a man that was behind the barrister that separated the court from the crowd, her eyes on another Crown Prince, a mortal one. "That the _Prose Edda_ and _Poetic Edda_ written by Snorri Sturluson to pass onto future generations, _YOU_," that was delivered right to the next King of Norway, "were not fairy tails or supposition, but reverent accounts for those you worshiped. That my client, Thor, Prince of Asgard, Son of Odin, God of Thunder, is very, _very_ real." She smiled to Prince Haakon before turning back to the jury. "And there's only one real question here that needs to be proved, ladies and gentlemen of the jury.

"Who here is _worthy_ to say otherwise?"

* * *

The prosecution got first swing, pulling out a few 'experts', all old men from Universities that were Classical Scandinavian Literature experts who picked apart the legends of _Thor, Son of Odin_ and the actions of her client. It was benign stuff to establish expertise as well as damaging character and reputation for her client. Herr Haraldsen would pull up an expert and examine them. When he was done, it was Jennifer's turn to cross-examine them. Sadly, this sort of ploy worked well for the prosecution, as Jenn didn't have a lifelong tenure of being Scandinavian and having an ingrain knowledge of all things Norse. She was an expert on two of the deities in question, though. While she couldn't discredit the experts or their testimony, what she did do was get them to say 'I don't know' more than enough times to remind the jury that the men were experts in _literature_, but by no means were they experts of cosmotology or anything Jenn knew to be true of her client or his half-brother. She picked them to death, getting a few objections from the prosecutor, but otherwise the first part of the trial was a rather dispassionate affair.

That was typical. It would be near the end when the real fireworks came.

There was an hour recess for lunch, where Walters and her client shared a nice national meal of farikal; a dish made of boiled cabbage, mutton, and peppercorn that Jenn actually enjoyed. She sipped at a glass of tea while her client enjoyed a flagon, thankfully not breaking it on the ground when he was done. The restaurant that they went to was populated with business, and there was no doubt that those enjoying a meal there recognized who their client was and claimed to be. The scowls and scorn was obvious, but thankfully never made it past dirty looks.

Lunch ended, and the prosecution called for Doctor Erik Selvig. Just like Jenn knew they would.

"_Herr Doctor,"_ Jorne Haraldsen moved to the stand like a lion stalking a deer, _"you have claimed to have spent time with the defendant." _Opening statements were over, and no one was allowed to say 'Thor'.

"_That is correct."_ Thankfully, Doctor Selvig was born in Norway and was more than fluent in his native language.

"_Where did you first meet him?"_

"_Puente Antiguo, New Mexico."_ The Astrophysicist replied, his credentials having already been established. An expert in high-level science while also being a native Norwegian was actually a boon in Jenn's favor. Pity Haraldsen didn't realize it yet.

"_Was the defendant able to prove his claims to you upon his arrival?"_ Nice, the man clearly avoided using the word 'wormhole' or 'Bifrost'. So far, he played a neat yet sharp game. Herr Haraldsen was a damn good attorney, Jenn would give him that.

"_No."_ Erik knew how to conduct himself in a courtroom. He answered the question directly, no added information. That kept one from making claims that could be proved otherwise or having one's on testimony deemed inadmissible. The Dean of Astrophysics and Astronomy of Culver University had been in close proximity of _two_ Godlike beings, and his testimony mattered.

"_Did you believe his claims at first?"_

"_No."_ Good, smart. Erik wasn't trying to say more and get legally squished. He played a sharp game, too. It told as Haraldsen frowned, obviously having expected Doctor Selvig to go more in depth and get testimony shredded or verbally overridden. Neither the names 'Thor' nor 'Loki' had been uttered so far. In fact, Doctor Selvig's involvement with Loki hadn't been mentioned at all. The first breath of it and Jenn was going to jump on it and object it until Hell froze over.

"_Did he mention how he arrived in the middle of the desert with no apparent means of transportation?"_

"_Yes."_ Jenn was trying not to smirk. Erik Selvig was a genius, and was playing the smart game.

"_Can you explain how?"_

"_Yes."_ Oh, that was good. It was a leading question but Erik knew that. He had technically answered the question; Herr Haraldsen hadn't actually asked the Doctor to go into the fundamentals of the explanation, just if he could. She hadn't had to raise an objection once. One might think that Doctor Selvig would start spouting words like 'fell from the sky', 'traveled through the Bifrost', 'not a mortal', or some other explanation, but he wasn't falling for the trap. Jenn knew what this was, and so did the Astrophysicist. The prosecutor _wanted_ him to start spouting about legends and myths as if he were a false prophet or a madman, eroding his credibility. Instead, Doctor Selvig was going to force the prosecution to say such words, making the _State_ acknowledge it. Clever man.

"_Permission to treat the witness as hostile."_ And with that, the prosecution fell into the Doctor's trap. A hostile witness was generally only allowed to answer _yes_ or _no_, unless specifically asked to name something (such as a name or a location). It wasn't unusual for the prosecution to treat a defenses' witness as hostile, but their own? That meant he had lost control of whatever game plan he had and was resorting to a different tactic. No doubt Doctor Selvig was an important part of the prosecutions' plan, to discredit one of _her_ witnesses. It wasn't working.

"_Denied."_ Ouch. In America, one could only get it allowed if the witness were badgering, being difficult, or not giving answers to the questions asked. Erik was completely and utterly truthful to every question, right to the very syllable. The Magister, despite the public spectacle of the case, was holding to the letter of the law. The last thing anyone wanted was to say that the trail was prosecuted or managed incorrectly. Jorne looked a little taken aback as he lost his proverbial footing. That meant he lost his momentum; not a good thing for the lead prosecutor.

"_Were you ever in the employ of any other individuals claiming to be a part of the Norse Pantheon?"_ Haraldsen fired back, trying to re-establish his rhythm.

"Innvending!" Jenn slapped her table theatrically as she bolted up from her chair, shooting upward as she objected in Norwegian. She just objected to the _prosecutor's_ witness when said prosecutor was grilling him on the stand! That was weird. "Your Honor! This case pertains to my client and the events he was involved in, not any other incidences or events not mentioned in the case."

"Vedvarende." Magistrate Svendsen agreed, sustaining the objection. Herr Haraldsen looked at her scathingly, and Jenn gave him a slight smirk just to rub it in a little. Good, Erik wouldn't be thrashed about his involvement with Loki, and the words 'mind control' wouldn't be uttered in the court. That's what she had been hoping to avoid, and she just got it. The good Doctor's reputation wouldn't be dragged over the coals in front of God, Thor, future King, and his own birth nation.

"_Doctor,"_ the Royal District Attorney continued, now at the proverbial strike two. Oh, it didn't work that way in court, but it was a certain… guideline when one was faltering a case, to cut losses before making it worse. It wasn't like there weren't additional cross-examinations until either the prosecution or the defense was satisfied and adjourned. _"Do you believe the client's claims? Do YOU believe he is who he say he is?"_

This was it. The magic moment. Jenn held her breath.

"_With all my heart and soul."_ Doctor Erik Selvig stood up from his seat in the stand, faced her client, put his right fist of his heart and thundered, "Hegl! Prins av Åsgard!" loud enough that everyone was momentarily taken aback as he tipped his head to the blond-haired man in question. Jenn wanted to whoop out loud as the Magistrate pounded his gavel upon the bench and called '_Reekefølge!_ _Reekefølge!_' as the attendees murmured and whispered amongst themselves. The effect was as powerful as intended.

"_Doctor, one more outburst from you and I shall find you in contempt of court."_ The Magistrate delivered in a grave voice. _"Jurors, you shall forget the previous outburst. Recorder? Strike it from the record."_ That was pretty typical, but no matter what one said, the memory was there; a Norwegian man had stood in a court of law, in front of his own birth nations' crown prince, and supplicated himself to a God that all Scandinavians and Germanic folks had been taught about at the cradle, the warrior god for the warrior folk.

Jenn looked to her client, who looked right back at her.

Thor was grinning from ear to ear. So was she.

"_Your witness."_ Haraldsen said bitterly as he walked back to his table, smarting from the loss.

Oh yeah, she got this.

* * *

"Doctor Selvig," Jennifer Walters had the proverbial floor, "you have postulate several theories and written many papers in the fields of Astrophysics and Astronomy. You are the Dean of said fields of Culver University in West Virginia, a prestigious school with many note-worth Alumni." This was just re-establishment of character. Simple but necessary stuff. "Yet you were witness to the events of Puente Antiguo, New Mexico, were you not?"

"_Yes."_ Good, Erik was keeping with the simple, short, and sweet answers. That was good, Jenn could certainly use that in her favor. It would look bad if Doctor Selvig was clammed up with the prosecutor and chatty with the defense. He still spoke Norwegian, too. Jenn had her cell phone-like translator in her breast pocket for Magistrate and jury. She was really going to have to thank Tony for it; it was working like a charm.

"In your own words," she held up a documented report that had come from SHIELD, but was most certainly labeled _Federal Bureau of Investigation_, "you stated that my client was not the only one with claims that were Norse in relation. To being from Asgard."

"Innvending!" Herr Haraldsen said from his chair, getting up, without the dramatic slapping of the table that was so common in America. _"Those persons in question are not here today for examination or testimony!"_ Jenn would have done the same thing and said it in the same way.

"Overstyres." The Magistrate replied, overruling the objection. That surprised her a little. Jenn expected it to be sustained, working a trap to where any cross-examination done by the prosecuting attorney would be hampered by his own need to strike anything useful in her clients' favor and painting him in a corner. Walters had won a good deal of cases that way.

"Were there any persons in Puente Antiguo who said that they too were from Asgard, Doctor?" The Esquire continued with her line of questioning, steaming ahead. She had to be specific about the location so as to deny the allowance of Loki, whom the Doctor hadn't met until PROJECT: PEGASUS_. _

"_Yes."_

"How many persons or entities did you encounter were acknowledged as having said or being said that they were from the Realm of Asgard, Doctor."

"Fem." _Five_, her earpiece had said. Oh yeah, she had this.

"Were… names given?" Jenn spoke with her hands, indicating the question as she stood near the stand, facing more to the jury. "Did these persons or entities identify themselves and the others by name?"

"Ja."

"What were those names, Doctor Selvig?" Establishment of character, line of evidence, and now came the smoking gun, so to speak.

"_Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun, calling themselves the Warriors Three."_ The Doctor provided. _"The Lady Sif."_ Unlike the Warriors Three, the Lady Sif _was_ a Norse deity; the Goddess of the Earth and Thor's wife, according to legend. _"And… the Destroyer."_

"This?" Jenn went back to her table and pulled out from her prepared file an eight-by-ten gloss photograph that was one heavenly action shot; a giant metal robot with an opened face firing some sort of heat/laser projectile with the Lady Sif crawling on top of its back, ready to stab the back of its head with her double-bladed sword. It gave a good context on its size, which was approximately five times taller than the average human being. She went back to the stand and held the picture for Erik to see and identify. "Is this the Destroyer?"

"Ja." Jenn looked to the Magistrate and let him view the picture to verify that she hadn't switched it and that she was going to admit it as evidence; it had been submitted earlier as was law. Magistrate Svendsen nodded as Jenn took the picture to an image capture device to display it upon a plasma television screen that was set up for the court, likely a permanent fixture. The screen displayed the picture like a poster for a blockbuster movie for all to see.

"This Destroyer," Jenn continued as she walked away from the screen, leaving it on as she headed to the jury slowly, "it doesn't look to be from this world, does it?"

"Innvending!" The Royal Defense Attorney cried out. _"The Doctor is not an expert of such things!"_

"Your Honor, Doctor Selvig here is an Astrophysicist and an Astrologer. I would certainly say he's an expert of _otherworldly_ things." Jenn replied quickly with her own counter-objection.

"_I will allow it."_

"Doctor?"

"_It does not."_ Erik replied, looking at the plasma screen television, obviously remembering that day.

"Were there attempts to stop the Destroyer as it wrecked carnage in Puente Antiguo?"

"Ja."

"By whom?"

"_Agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."_ Doctor Selvig had been told by SHIELD Agents and displayed badges to that effect despite that he knew better. Technically, he wasn't lying under oath. _"The Warriors Three, the Lady Sif, and the defendant."_ Good, Erik wasn't saying _Thor_. He wasn't allowed, and doing so would hamper her efforts. Thank God Doctor Selvig was a brilliant man; she expected no less out of a scientist and a leading authority of his field. _"If there were others, I did not see them."_

"And where were you during the attack?" Jenn asked, leaning against the stand as she was turned towards the jury. It wouldn't do to have them looking at her back.

"_Protecting my student and her intern."_

"Doctor Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis?" Jennifer explained with a question. It was a leading one, but it was correct to do so.

"Ja." Good. A man looking to protect students and females would be seen as a man instead of someone refusing to participate in a battle he was hopelessly outmatched in; no one would brand him a coward. There had been deaths in Puente Antiguo, and some had been folk using Earth-made weaponry to defend their town. They had died protecting their homes and the people of their town.

"But you were able to witness the battle?"

"Ja."

"All of it?"

"Nei." Good. Eyewitness testimony was the worst, and lawyers put buckshot through eyewitness testimony all the time. Claiming to have seen 'everything' was a surefire way for a prosecutor or a defense attorney to rip up a witness account into shreds. Saying that he had seen portions of it, however, sounded like a man who wasn't trying to inflate his self-importance or make himself more than what he was. He was a damn good witness.

"How much of it?" Non-leading question.

"_Most."_ The Doctor replied._ "More than half, easily. What I couldn't see, I heard."_

"Now you said you saw the FBI take action against the Destroyer," Jenn waved to the screen to identify, "would you say that they were effective?"

"Nei."

"Were they inadequately armed?"

"Innvending! _She is leading the witness!"_ Okay, yeah, she was. Haraldsen was positively itching for her to make a mistake.

"Vedvarende." The objection was sustained. That was easily rectifiable.

"What were the FBI Agents armed with, Doctor Selvig?" Jenn asked, never missing a beat or losing her rhythm.

"_Pistols and military-oriented American assault rifles."_ The Doctor explained.

"Pistols and American assault rifles." Jenn moved away from the stand and towards the jury, pacing her words. Playing for effect. There was really only two styles of assault rifles that people knew of; the American M-16/M-4, and the Russian AK-47. There were others, of course, but most every nation was officially armed with those or something very similar to them. "Did the weapons have any apparent effect on the Destroyer?"

"Nei."

"Damage it in any significant way?"

"Nei."

"Slow it down at all?"

"Nei."

"Now, Doctor," Jenn turned to look to the stand, her back practically pushing to the prosecutions' table, "the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif… were they armed with pistols and assault rifles?"

"_No, they were not."_

"What were they armed with?" Jennifer asked. Things were about to go as she planned.

"_Swords and shields."_ Walters moved to her table, grabbed another photo, this one a post-battle photo op, moments after the Destroyer had been defeated and scattered over an acre of land. She showed it to the Astrophysicist.

"Like these?"

"Ja." Jenn showed the picture to the Magistrate, whose eyebrows went up with some amusement, but gave her a nod. Jenn scanned the photo and it was brought up on the plasma screen TV. A picture showing her client, Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, the Lady Sif, Doctor Selvig, Doctor Foster, and Darcy Lewis had been taken of them together, obviously standing for an impromptu victory photograph. Erik, the tallest of the 'mortals', was of equal height to the Lady Sif, the rest being either slightly or noticeably taller. Darcy, being of average height for a Human woman, looked positively diminutive compared to the Asgardians. The pictured showed the Warriors Three, the Lady Sif, and her client in full battle regalia, armed and armored as if they had just stepped off a fantasy movie involving slaughtering orcs or dragons. It was actually a pretty damn good photo, and Jenn was going to have to get it framed and placed on a wall; a day when Asgardian and mortals stood side-by-side in battle and in friendship. That was certainly a good sell.

"Were the Warriors and the Lady able to stop the Destroyer, Doctor?" Jennifer continued, almost to her _piece de resistance_. She couldn't _just_ pull something out of her hat only to have it dismissed from the case or stricken from testimony. No, she had to establish it, had to put it in its rightful place. No doubt the prosecution had been itching for the chance to have it stricken from the evidence log, rendering it useless in court, the one thing she needed. So she had to set it up. And she was almost there.

"_No, they were not able to do so."_ Erik admitted.

"Would you say their efforts were equal to that of those FBI Agents?"

"_More so. Significantly so."_ There was video evidence that Jenn doubted the prosecution wanted played of the battle. It looked like a summer blockbuster done right. Jenn had watched it with a dropped jaw and wishing for popcorn, but knowing that thirty-two lives had been lost in the attack.

"How so, Doctor?"

"_I saw the Lady Sif climb upon the Destroyers' back and run it through with her sword."_ The older man replied, his voice holding a little awe to it. _"I saw the Destroyer batter away a car that had been hurled at it by Volstagg. I saw each of them struck by that thing and get back up when… when people of Puente Antiguo were struck and never got back up ever again."_ The Doctor closed his eyes, no doubt reliving that terrible day. _"In our time of need, they were there to defend us."_

"So the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif… they weren't able to stop or destroy the Destroyer?" Jenn asked. Almost there.

"Nei."

"But the Destroyer _was_ in fact damaged beyond a working state?"

"Ja."

"But not by the FBI or the Warriors Three or the Lady Sif?"

"Nei."

"How?"

"_Him."_ Doctor Selvig took an accusatory finger and pointed it right at her client.

"Your Honor? I would like it to be recognized that the witness has identified my client as the one responsible for the defeat of the Destroyer during the attack on Puente Antiguo." Jenn announced, mostly for the court recorder to add on her stenographer machine. She was _right there_, and she could practically taste it. No doubt Herr Haraldsen was sweating bullets. She had just labeled her client a hero in a Norwegian Court in front of its own Crown Prince and several hundred attendees, having defeated something no one else had.

Like something out of a legend or a bedtime story.

It was time for the masterpiece.

"With his bare hands?"

"Nei."

"Guns?"

"Nei."

"Swords? Spears? Bows? Axes?" Volstagg had a giant battleaxe on his shoulder in the post-battle photo, while the Lady Sif had a spear/sword combo thingie.

"Nei."

"Then what did my client use to defeat a giant killer robot," _Innverding!_ was announced, but Jenn just spoke louder, "that was attacking a small southwestern American town with a death ray for a face," _Innverding!_ came again, but Jenn wasn't going to back down, "responsible for the deaths of thirty-two innocent American lives."

"_Your Honor! Objection!"_ Herr Haraldsen cried out, standing tall at his table, but it was far too late now. Jenn could taste how riveted everyone was, how hanging off the edges of their seat they were. She was bringing a legend to life, and they wanted to know. Some of those in attendance were here because they thought someone was defaming their cherished traditions. Some wanted to know desperately that those stories that had been passed down throughout the centuries were true.

It was time.

"_The Grinder."_

_Mjølnir._ Doctor Erik Stellan Selvig had just evoked the word _Mjølnir_ in court.

"This?" Jenn went back to her table, pulled up a picture from her file, and went back to the stand to display the picture in question, taken outside of Puente Antiguo, where it had landed on Earth after being cast down from the celestial heavens of Yggdrasil. It was an official photo taken by SHIELD, stamped with the FBI logo.

"Ja." Jenn showed it to the Magistrate, who looked at the photo-filling depiction of the object in question, and paled a little, nodding quickly.

"This." She walked to the jury box, and slowly walked by the members while sowing off the photo so they could see it with their own eyes. Then the prosecutions' table (who had their own copy). The Crown Prince of Norway got an eyeful, too. Walters went to the image capture device, set the photo onto the device and took a still of it so that it could be displayed for all to see on the large screen plasma TV.

The court was silent.

"Your Honor? If it should please the court?" Walters turned to look at the Magistrate. "I would like to enter into the evidence log the mallet identified by the FBI…

"…as _Object Skyhammer_."

* * *

Author's Notes: Yes, I could have just chucked the old mallet into the middle of the courtroom and said 'lift!' but any attorney with the intent to keep his/her job would find ways to get it tossed out of court (heh, no pun intended). So yes… Jenn did in fact list prior to trial _Mjolnir_ but as its 'initial object' description, not 'Thor's magical hammer'. Jenn is sneaky :-).

I'm not a lawyer. Nor have I ever been to Norway (but as I understand it, it's a pretty damn awesome country). Everything that I've written is more in line with American trials (including terms), as I have no idea about anything in the Norwegian legal system. I've never written a 'legal' chapter before, and yet I smashed right through it in one go, absolutely excited. No real outline, just a barebones idea and some history of watching _Law and Order_ to make up a court case.

To those of Norway, I know little of your Kingdom, and this chapter reflects nothing of my views of your nation. As I stated, I've heard it's awesome, and it has the statistics to prove it. If I made errors in titles and protocol, that's on me. I did research, but that's just on paper, and does little to reflect the culture and flavors of a people.

Yes, Norway has a King, Harald V of Norway, and Haakon is the Crown Prince (though… not the oldest child). It would seem silly not to acknowledge the Norwegian Royal family, as the Kingdom of Norway is considered one of the best democracies to live in… _in the world_. I think it's also suppose to have one of the best medical cares and educations in the world, too. Every once in a while, some girl named Lisbeth Salander makes a muck of things.

I used the Norwegian spelling of _Mjolnir_ for the court case. It's proper.

Get ready to prove your worth!


	9. The Legal Has Landed, IV

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**C.J. Hambros Plass 4, Oslo, Norway, June 1, 2012**

_+21 Days after the Battle of New York_

Author's Note:_ Thor vs. Norway, pt. 2. I made sure to bring the thunder -.o_

* * *

"_We come from the land of ice and snow,  
__From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow!  
__The hammer of the Gods,  
__Will drive our ships to new lands.  
__To fight the horde, singing and crying;  
__Valhalla, I am coming!  
__On we sweep, with threshing oars,  
__Our only goal will be the western shores!"_

Try as she might, Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., couldn't get the lyrics of Led Zeppelin's _Immigrant Song_ out of her head. At least it was a good song.

Two uniformed Norwegian State Police Officers were currently pushing a four-wheeled flatbed platform truck into the courtroom, a wooden crate upon its surface. The crate had been examined by the personnel for any explosive devices before trial, and Jenn had been a little amused to see that the object inside didn't actually show up on an X-Ray Machine. She didn't know why, but had shrugged it off and figured she'd get an explanation later. The crate had been sealed as evidence, and wasn't allowed to be opened until it was brought into court as detailed through chain-of-custody pertaining to evidence. When it had been looked inside and what appeared to be a mallet with a too-short shaft sat inside, the inspecting officer had merely snorted, nailed the crate shut, and sealed the crate with tamper-proof tape. It was admitted as evidence under its official name, _Object Skyhammer_.

If they only knew…

The two burly police officers pushed the wheeled flatbed down the aisle of the courtroom, where spectators saw the medium-size wooden crate with red tape encircling it from top to bottom and then around it to confirm that the object inside hadn't been altered in any way since sealed. One of the wheels was a squeaky one, unfortunately, as the men pushed the platform truck past the barrister gate and into the middle of the legal floor. Their job finished, they moved to one side of the courtroom to further ensure that nothing was added or taken away, fulfilling the legal requirements of chain-of-custody in case said object was needed at a later time.

"Officers? If you could please detach the lids and the walls of the crate without disturbing the object itself inside?" Jenn asked, her Tony Stark-made translator repeating her words in Norwegian thanks to the cell phone-like device she kept in her suit's breast pocket. As a bit of a joke, Walters had the crate stamped 'FRAGILE' on all sides and the top to make sure that it wasn't accidentally tipped over or anyone trying to… move it. Her client had set it on the wooden floor of the crate that had been set on the platform, and the walls and lid had been nailed on by the inspecting officer. As she understood it, it hadn't been that unusual of a request. But the last thing she wanted to happen was some poor Norwegian gentleman straining their back trying to lift 'a crate'. The two Norwegian men complied easily enough; again, not an unusual request likely. A simple crowbar was used to pry the lid off, coming away easily, while the walls were pulled off with some effort. But the object inside had not been disturbed or moved from its location as five wooden planks were taken away and the thing inside unveiled for all to see.

_Object Skyhammer_, according to official documentation and the evidence list.

To the normal eye, it looked like a sledgehammer made out of some sort of steel with a hilt that was about as long as a mans' forearm. Looks were certainly deceiving.

Jenn was banking on it.

"Doctor Kristoffersen," Jenifer approach the stand for her first-called witness, one of the prosecutions' experts by the name of Doctor Olav Kristoffersen, (Ph.D., Forensic Science). "If you could do me the pleasure of reading this report?" Jenn said as she handed an official forensic report compiled by the 'Federal Bureau of Investigation'. The Doctor could read English, which was a necessity. Having one of the prosecutions' experts doing it for her was just icing on the cake.

"_The report is titled 'Forensic Analysis of Object Skyhammer' by Special Agent in Charge Phillip Coulson, Federal Bureau of Investigation."_ The Doctor read the English-written manuscript in Norwegian out loud. _"Do you wish for me to read it word-for-word or summarize?"_

"Page eight, second through fifth paragraph, Doctor." Walters replied with a smile, looking to the Royal District Attorney, Herr Jorne Haraldsen. He was currently scowling at her. He had the same report, but probably thought nothing of it pertaining to an object that was probably thought just a mere hammer. Perhaps he thought it a prop or a forgery. Oh well.

"_Initial non-destructive testing showed Object Skyhammer to be… unmovable."_ The Doctor began, his words flowing through the courtroom. _"Hundreds of American civilians attempted to seize the object with their bare hands, drag it from its resting location with chains and vehicles, and one attempted to use a small 10-ton crane to pull it up without success."_ The Forensic Scientist looked up, and Jenn turned to indicate for him to continue on. The Doctor took a sip of water provided at the stand, obviously knowing what he was reading as he began to read out loud again._ "Further attempts to move or relocate the object have met with failure, including to tip it over or shift it._

"_Destructive testing was also met with failure," _the Doctor cleared his throat, _"no piece of the Objects' head or haft was able to be removed for spectral analysis…"_

"So the FBI was not able to get one chip of metal or one sliver of the haft for examination, Doctor?" She turned to the stand, reiterating the word on the report in more Layman's terms.

"Nei. _That is what the report says."_ It was something that the Federal Bureau of Investigation had such a reputation that nearly halfway around the world their reported words went without question. Oh, Agent Phil Coulson wasn't an FBI Agent but a SHIELD one who had died defending the ACVN-64 _Constellation_ Helicarrier by engaging Loki to prevent him from escaping. But the court didn't need to know that. It didn't pertain to the case or trial, anyhow. Jenn motioned for the witness to continue.

"…_removed for spectral analysis, so other means of analysis were used. X-Ray proved insubstantial as the Object did not appear on the machine…"_, there were murmurs in the court at the announcement that a _metal_ object didn't appear on X-Ray, _"and acidic testing using stronger Ph-testing means showed that not even hydrochloric acid was able to do any kind of noticeable reaction or change to either the metal or shaft. Analysis with ultraviolet-visible spectroscopy and infrared spectroscopy were not able to determine the metal's composition, metallurgy, or… thermal signature."_

"What would that mean, Doctor?"

"_That it is a non-native metal."_ Was the reply.

"Non-native? Clarify for the court, please." Oh, she knew what it meant. So did everyone else. But Jenn was going to make a scientist say it out loud.

"_It is not of this Earth."_

"Continue." Jenn nodded her head, looking to the crowd of spectators in the court room, standing perfectly at ease with her back to the witness stand.

"_Nuclear Magnetic Resonance Spectroscopic testing commenced as well as Mass Spectroscopy testing." _It was obvious the Forensic Scientist was reading ahead a little, and Jenn turned to see the man wipe away at the sweat of his brow in the otherwise-cool courtroom. _"NMR testing showed that the metal's density is far greater than any known metal on Earth. Its only known registered value on the hypothetical scale is Neutronium; the theorized metal core of a stellar object at its final states of life…"_

"The heart of a dying star, Doctor? Is that what you are saying?" Jenn interjected.

"Innvending!" Herr Haraldsen bolted up.

"Overstyres." Magistrate Svendsen overruled. He hadn't even given the Royal District Attorney the chance to explain what he was objecting to. _"Continue, Doctor."_ The elderly man in the wig said from the bench, looking to the witness.

"_Yes, Neutronium is the hypothetical metal at the very center of a white dwarf, a dying star."_ Doctor Kristoffersen replied.

"That's the scientific term for this hypothetical metal, correct?" Jenn asked, walking to the stand; going for the kill. "Is there any _other_ names for this hypothetical metal, Doctor?"

"Ja." The Doctor looked almost sick on the stand. He had been cornered and he knew it. Hell, everyone knew it by now.

"Do you know of those other names, by chance?"

"Ja." Of course he did; he was taught it at the cradle, a young boy probably listening with rapt wonder at his fathers' stories of heroes and legends of a bygone age when Scandinavians and Vikings were said to have once walked alongside Gods.

"What are they, Doctor?"

"Innvending!"

"Overstyres." Another objection suppressed. Jenn had set the trap, and it had sprung. All that was left was get the prize.

"Doctor?" The Esquire asked sweetly, standing near the flatbed platform truck where _Object Skyhammer_ rested. She wasn't even looking at it.

"_Uru."_ Long before science had theorized the existence of a metal that would be at the core of a burned-out star, its metallic core condensing and compacting itself under the greatest heat and pressure in the known universe, there had been a mythological name to the heart-metal of a dying star before likely anyone on Earth knew what a white dwarf was.

That metal was known as _Uru_; Starmetal.

"Doctor, has here ever been any objects made of this metal? Anything that we know of, fact or fiction?" Jenn asked.

"Innvending!" Herr Haraldsen popped up again. _"This is a court of law! Unverified fictional tales have no place here!"_

"You mean like charging a man taking the name of a _fictional_ Pantheon with pseudoapothesis?" Jenn fired right back. "Because if that's the case, I can move for a complete dismissal and legal lawsuit against the State of Norway for defamation of character." She had the old man by the balls. Actually, she felt a little sorry of Jorne. Likely he was a good attorney who defended his nations' law with honor and pride. But she answered to a _different_ authority.

"Overstyres." Yes, it would be overruled. If Jenn moved for a complete dismissal, it would be a huge black eye and a public backlash on the Norwegian court system. Not something she wanted to do.

"Doctor, again," Jenn turned to the Forensic Scientist, that poor man sweating on the stand who was the target of the legal drama, "has here ever been any objects made of this metal?"

"Ja." The answer was barely more than a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm afraid I couldn't hear you."

"JA!" Poor Doctor Kristoffersen knew there was no rescue for him.

"And those objects?" Jenn was in front of the stand, close enough to see the beads of sweat on the man's brow. Poor guy.

"Møljnir." _The Grinder_, her translating earpiece told her.

"And what is Møljnir, Doctor?" Jenn asked as she sauntered by the jury box. "I was born in America, and was not raised hearing of Norse Mythology. Can you tell me what you know of Møljnir?"

"Innvending!"

"Overstyres." Now the prosecutor was just trying to break up her rhythm any way he could. It was far, far too late for that. The hammer was about to fall, so to speak.

"_Forged with the metal of the heart of a dying star,"_ the man spoke, his elderly voice quaking as silent tears ran down his face, _"by the Dwarves of Nidavellir. A shaft too short by the trickery of Loki Wolfsblood, with a head larger than the largest maul. The ultimate weapon for the ultimate warrior, said to be able to crack a mountain. And…"_ the Doctor's eyes were on his client, weeping but open, never blinking once, _"whomever holds the Grinder, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor."_ His head tilted forward as he sobbed, and Jenn had a pretty damn good idea why. He had been brought in to disprove a false God.

And realized he had committed sacrilege.

"Your witness." Jenn said to Herr Haraldsen softly, her heart heavy as she went back to her seat to the soundtrack of an old man's weeping broken heart.

* * *

There was a brief recess after the cross-examination of Doctor Olav Kristoffersen, and Jenn moved for the kill.

"The defense would like to call to the stand Mariusz Zbigniew Pudzianowski." Jennifer Walters declared, pausing for effect.

"The World's Strongest Man."

From the rows of spectators stood a beast of a man, a Polish bear in the guise of a human being stood up to his full one-hundred and eighty-six centimeter height, his one-hundred and forty-two kilogram frame barely contained by the specially-ordered clothes that did nothing to hide the massive shoulders and enormous arms, his chest measuring nearly five and a half feet in circumference. The spectators murmured as the world's only five-time champion of the World's Strongest Man Competition walked down the aisle towards the barrister gate, his shoulders wider than the gate itself as he turned slightly to enter effortlessly; a move he had no doubt perfect with thousands of doorways. The suit he wore was strained with even his normal movements, the dress shirt threatening to pop buttons as the fabric creaked and groaned with his arm movements as he strode forward. The Stark Industries' Challenger Bombardier 300 had picked up the Polish man after Jenn had asked him to testify in court as a subject matter expert in all things heavy. The man had agreed when she told him why. Pudzianowski barely fit in the witness stand, looking like a caged animal ready to tear loose, like a barely-contained rhinoceros playing nice for the crowds… for now.

"Mister Pudzianowski, thank you for being here today." Jennifer began with a smile, trying not to stare at those shoulders. "You are the world's only five-time champion of the World's Strongest Man Competition, are you not?"

"_Yes."_ The strongman was speaking in German, which was generally understood to a decent degree by most Norwegians. Tony's translation device was already translating his words without Jenn having to muck with it, recognizing the language and delivering it to her ear in English. They were going to make so much fucking money off that translator.

"What's your maximum deadlift?"

"Innvending!" Called out Herr Jorne Haraldsen, the prosecuting attorney, but the wind had been taking out of his proverbial sails. He was now doing it for prosperity and his sense of duty. She would shake his hand and send him a formal letter of gratitude for his ethics and proper efforts. It wasn't that he was a bad lawyer; she was just better considering her environment in Southern California, who would have eaten the Norwegian man alive.

"Overstyres." The Honorable Svendsen called out, looking to the bulky man on the stand.

"Four-hundred and fifteen kilograms." The muscular man replied, more than a touch of pride in his voice. That was damn near a thousand pounds. That was damn impressive, and he had done it as a normal human being. Jenn nodded at the answer.

"That is most impressive, Herr Pudzianowski. You have certainly earned my respect." The Esquire said as she looked over to the jury. "I've called you here today as a subject matter expert in all things heavy lifting. You are a titled athlete, and a Guinness Book of World Records' recipient acknowledging your feat of no less than five titles earned in the World's Strongest Man Competition. Your statistics and lifting abilities are officially acknowledged and recognized instead of boasting, they can be reviewed online for truly impressive feats of strength and determination, and I'm sure some of us have seen you in action." She had established the man as much an expert as a Doctor or a scientist; he might not have a diploma, but he certainly had the medals. Not to mention those beastly arms of his. No one was going to doubt a man who could crush a man's skull like a sparrows' egg in between his thighs.

It was time.

Jenn moved to the flatbed platform truck that had been sitting in the middle of he partitioned courtroom the whole time, untouched. She grabbed the handlebar and tipped the apparatus to one side, letting the objects on it fall to the ground. The mallet landed onto the ground with a solid thud, never moving once it hit the ground with a finality. The board underneath it merely stood on its edge, leaning against the tilted four-wheeled truck before Jennifer righted it again, taking the piece of wood and putting it on the flatbed before pushing it away, leaving the short-hafted mallet on the ground. That being done, she stood next to it.

"If it would please the court? I would like the witness to relocate _Object Skyhammer_ to any other location he sees fit by any means he sees fit."

Jenn's plan was to have _Object Skyhammer_ picked up by the fully-acknowledged and fully-recognized World's Strongest Man.

"Oh!" The Esquire interjected. "So as to remove of any claims of trickery, subterfuge, interference, or nonsense… could the witness remove his shirt so as to say here was nothing else involved save his raw strength?"

There was a light chuckle amongst the spectators as Mariusz Zbigniew Pudzianowski stepped away from the stand, already doffing his enormous suit jacket before undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, the garment almost sighing in relief from the strain of covering his massive girth. The shirt opened up to reveal a weightlifters' undershirt, an open-necked sleeveless affair that merely covered the truck as that too was peeled off, showing the Polish man's extraordinary musculature in all its glory to the courtroom. Mariusz, a showman as much as he was a weightlifting competitor, held out his arms to his sides and beckoned the spectators to revel a little as he moved to _Object Skyhammer_, the people beginning to cheer him on, the professional athlete to its adoring fans. The gavel was struck several times before the clapping and cheering ended as the Polish man stood straddle over the mallet, a foot to either side at shoulder width apart as Mariusz rubbed his hands together to dry his hands of whatever moisture they happened to have before bending down and grabbing the short handle with both meaty hands.

Jenn held her breath. This was it, the moment she had been building up to, the moment when she would prove to the court of Norway and the world that the stories… they were all true.

Mariusz Zbigniew Pudzianowski grabbed the handle of the tipped-over mallet laying on its side, its shaft pointing towards the partitioned spectators as the beastly man grasped the hilt…

…and began to _heave_.

* * *

In a trial, it did not simply do to take the biggest piece of evidence one had, wave it around like a flag, and throw it in front of Judge and jury at the first possible instance.

Any lawyer worth their _Juris Doctor_ degree would object to hell and gone and get it dismissed as evidence, fighting tooth and nail to destroy the one piece of evidence that tied everything in. From the main eyewitness, to that one incriminating video footage, to the smoking gun, to the electronic file with its digital fingerprints, the name of the game was _establishment_.

One simply did not just pull the biggest play in the playbook at the beginning; one set it up first.

In a legal proceeding, it was normal that a court case would be led off with expert testimony before eyewitness testimony. Debunking theories and eliminating possibilities narrowed the chances of a defendant being found not guilty or in compliance with whatever they were being charged with. Likewise, the defense would do its best to eliminate such testimonies or prove the possibility of improper due process of law to give reasonable doubt to those charges or actions. Evidence helped tied in such things, helping seal actions and testimonies, proving theories and movements, establishing timelines and locations. The legal proceedings of a trial, be it criminal or civil, was a mixture of ballet, painting, and a debate competition. A bad report or a break in the chain-of-custody could unravel a case like Odysseus' wife unraveling her tapestry to keep the suitors at bay. An eyewitness flubbing their account or misleading from their sworn testimony could have the whole thing striken from the record, putting holes in accounts, timelines, and alibis. Improper police procedures could sink a case faster than a ship with no hull in the middle of an ocean.

One didn't just throw the smoking gun right at the beginning of a trial. One had to _prove_ that the smoking gun was, in fact, the smoking gun. And then legally prove that the person did or did not hold it at the time of concern, depending upon which side of the courtroom one sat on.

Jenn would know; she had been taught by some of the best at the Law Office of Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway.

Trails could be dull affairs, but it was like battle or war; one had to know when and where to strike. One had to move the pieces into play, put them in their proper places, and then make the moves that had the other side (prosecution or defense, plaintiff or defendant) reeling, watching their own carefully-constructed case unspool like a jumbled mess of Christmas lights.

It wouldn't do just for her to slap Mjolnir in front of the court, point at it, and say 'lift!'.

There was video evidence, and it was established. There was eyewitness accounts, and they were listened to. There were experts, and they had testified. There were reports, and they were read out loud. Prosecution and defense had worked hard on their cases to weave a story to prove their side either with or without a doubt; was the man who called himself Thor, Son of Odin really who he said he was? A Prince of Asgard? The God of Thunder?

There was really only one thing on _Earth_ that could prove it. And it was laying on its side in the middle of a Norwegian courtroom in front of hundreds of eyes.

And it was time for it to prove its worth…

…if anyone should be so worthy.

* * *

Meaty hands grasped that leather-bound haft, as long as a mans' forearm, fingers wrapped tight around the hilt as thick as the handle of a baseball bat as Mariusz Zbigniew Pudzianowski's massive hands took that horizontal bar into their grips as the Polish man squatted down to use both his arms and thighs to life _Object Skyhammer_, the World's Strongest Man about to lift an object simply laying on its side.

The stage was set, the die was cast.

And the man began to _heave_.

Muscular biceps swelled and exploded from the huge arms as Mariusz grunted, the skin around his upper arms growing tight around the thick cords of muscles as his veins began t o proliferate, popping towards the skin to cool down the growing heat of exertion as the grunt went deeper. Thigh muscles strained the slacks as he wore as those massive muscles stretched the cotton fabric to its bursting point, the seems beginning to tear apart as a soft ripping noise as the fabric parted from the outer sides of his thighs became exposed from the flexing muscles as those hands sought to lift just a simple mallet laying on its side upon the courtroom floor.

Pudzianowski grunted, his face strained. The skin around his face began to grow ruddy as the massive neck muscles bulged and shoulders hunched while the back contracted to lift a dead weight from the ground. The World's Strongest Man roared with a bellow of exertion and defiance as he heaved, a man who could pick nearly a thousand pounds in the deadlift competition, a five-time champion of the World's Strongest Man Competition there to simply pick up a hammer. His knuckles were bone-white as his sausage-thick fingers were wrapped around the leather-bound hilt, forearms thick with muscles and veins as the arms began to tremble and sweat began to explode from opened pours to cool down a body exerting calories and strength to pick up something that looked to be no more than seven kilograms in weight.

Mariusz's face was red like a beet, sweat streaming down his body as every muscle in his body bulged and strained against the weight of that mallet as the Polish man roared, the World's Strongest Man brought forward to pick up a simple hammer.

It never moved. It didn't even budge.

After a solid minute, Pudzianowski relaxed and rested, holding up a hand to indicate that he wasn't done as there were murmurs in the crowd, Norwegians seeing what Jenn wanted them to see, to having them know what she already knew. The Polish man got onto his two knees and his left hand for a curl lift, turning himself into a supporting bridge as he attempted to lift the handle one-handed from a lower elevation, where less force was needed. He gripped the end of the too-short shaft for leverage as his massive paw gripped the handle, a lifetime of lifting plates of metal with bars attached giving him a solid grip with thick fingers and calloused pads on the palms of his hands.

He began to _wrench_.

Again, the muscles bulged impressively as his right bicep swelled to twice its relaxed state, that thick knot of mass muscular tissue balling up to curl the object upward as veins decorated the skin of the Polish mans' arm as he twisted his body for additional strength and leverage, a professional who knew how to lift a heavy object with all the practice and tricks a bodybuilder knew. He was lifting himself up, getting off his knees and standing on his feet as his left hand supported him in his bridge, desperately trying to make the mallet move upward from its resting place as he screamed out his exertion, his face so red it was a wonder it didn't explode. His massive neck was bulging with cords of muscles as his back arched upward, ligaments and tendons shifting with his efforts to pick up a hammer.

It never moved. It didn't even budge.

A minute of rest as the World's Strongest Man indicated that he was giving it another go as he caught his breath, drenched in his own perspiration, dress slacks torn at the sides from his meaty thighs. His color was returning to normal as he wiped the sweat from his eyes and brow as he shifted position to another one seen in the World's Strongest Man Competition, known as the Rope Pull. Mariusz put his feet against the top of the mallet as a brace, scooting forward enough to where he could reach he handle laying opposite him, grabbing it by its looping lanyard. With that piece of leather in his hands, he parted his knees slightly as his massive arms were set in between, gripping the loop as he was leaned forward.

He began to _tug_.

His slacks ripped more as his thighs bulged as he pushed away from the mallet as his arms pulled back in a rowing motion, his whole upper body jerking backwards in an attempt to rotate the hammer upwards, to get the haft to point towards the sky. His whole body was a mountain of muscle, and every muscle was used in an effort to lever a large-headed, short-shaft sledge from where it rested upon the ground. Mariusz roared, his face as red as blood as he pulled and pulled and pulled, his feet pushing against the head to tip it upward, to change its position. Muscles heaved, veins exploded almost through the skin, sweat poured off of him like rivers as the man exerted every gram of strength and knowledge into making a hammer sit upright.

It never moved. It didn't even budge.

Mariusz Zbigniew Pudzianowski sat on the ground after a minute of tugging, stumped as he held up a finger, indicating that he would give it one more attempt, that he hadn't conceded defeat yet. Such was the awe of watching the World's Strongest Man attempting to lift so benign an object that was being proved one and all to being more than what it seemed that the court attendees watched with rapt wonder as Mariusz shifted his position one more time, getting on his knees to the left of the haft, gripping it in a way that indicate that he wasn't going to life it or flip it, but rotate it, to spin it like a clock. The meaty hands of the beastly Polish man gripped the leather-bound handle, his thick arms veined and sweating as the five-time champion readied himself for the effort to move an object that was said to have been made for the hand of a King.

He began to _push_.

Mariusz screamed defiance as his heavy musculature swelled and bulged as he dug his feet into the ground and attempted to rotate the hammer on its surface, to change its position in any way possibly. His body jerked back and forth, alternating from push to pull, gaining momentum as he used his bulk and strength to turn the handle of the mallet on the ground, to make it spin its position in a noticeable manner. Seat poured off his bare upper torso as the muscles in his back bulged and contracted with the effort, rippling under his taunt skin as he pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled to rock the hammer, trying to budge it, trying to turn it, to make it move. The World's Strongest Man against a hammer.

It never moved. It didn't even budge.

Mariusz Zbigniew Pudzianowski sat back on his haunches at the feet of that hammer, oozing sweat, his face slowly looking its ruddy complexion as his lungs heaved for oxygen that he had spent to move _Object Skyhammer_, having giving no doubt in his attempts to pick up an object that had fallen from the skies. The Polish man leaned forward and reached a hand forward, reverently touching the metallic surface of the hammer, before lifting his hand up and bowing his head forward.

Conceding defeat.

Jennifer was the first on her feet to applaud the man and his efforts, recognizing the testament of his strength, his efforts to move the mallet, and the grace of a professional who had been beaten and yet acknowledged it without shame. Most of the audience in the courtroom followed Walters' example, her client included, applauding the professional athlete, showing the man the respect he deserved as he got to his feet, giving the spectators a short bow of gratitude as he wiped the sweat that sheened his face, standing there in front of them in all his massive glory. He was a showman, giving thanks to the crowd for honoring him as such before turning slightly to the right and gave another short bow.

Right towards her client.

* * *

There was really only one thing left to do.

"Your honor? I would like to call to the stand the one who claims himself to be Thor Odinson."

It was time.

Jennifer Walters watched as her suited client took to the witness stand, his long blond locks held back in a ponytail, sitting at ease in the witness box as she took to the courtroom floor. One the defense could call upon the defendant in a court of law, the prosecution unable to do so. They were allowed to cross-examine them once the defense attorney had their line of questioning, but it was the one thing a defense attorney could do that the prosecution could not; make their client take the stand.

Jenn elected to do so.

"_Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help your God?"_ Magistrate Svendsen asked as her client held his right hand on top of a Holy Bible, Jenn having told him prior what it meant.

"_In the name of the Gods and Allfathers, I swear."_ No surprise, her client spoke Norwegian, probably flawlessly. While the Bible was used to invoked the Christian God, the modern era had allowed for most nations in the western world that a person could invoke the deity they believed in, though usually still having to do so on a religious text, such as a _Qu'ran_ or a similarly-related religious symbol, such as the Buddhists would with a small shrine of the great teacher. Her client invoking the Gods and the Allfathers was allowed. Jenn briefly wondered if 'Allfather' meant king, and if one day it would be 'Thor Allfather'.

"Mister Odinson," Jenn was still not allowed to call him by his birth name despite that there were likely thousands of 'Thors' in each Scandinavian and Germanic-speaking country; the difference was that those individuals only claimed to be _human_, "if you could please, for the record, state your full name from the location of your birth?" That was a nice benign way of saying _impress us with all your titles_.

"_Thor, son of Odin, son of Bor, Eldest of the Allfather, King of Asgard,"_ her client began, _"Thane of Valhalla, rightful owner of Møljnir, First in my Name. Sworn Guardian of the Nine Realms, Watcher of Yggdrasil, Lord Marshal of the Einherjar, and Sworn Defender of Midgard."_ It was like listening to a Shakespearian play. Jenn briefly wondered what it had been like in all those Old World European Courts when one had to announce everyone that approached a King during a dance or session, having to go through all those titles for everyone. It probably took up a part of a day.

"Have you ever claimed to be another individual?" Walters asked, walking from the stand and towards the jury box.

"_I have not, but it has been done for my behalf."_ While the inclusion wasn't necessary, it at least covered the identity of _Donald Blake, MD_ that had been doctored by Doctor Erik Selvig when her client had been apprehended by SHIELD when the Prince of Asgard had gone to reclaim his property. She knew of the story from both Erik and Doctor Jane Foster. She could easily solve it in trial if needed. What was important was that her _client_ had never said anything to the effect that he was anyone else save Thor Odinson. Such things had been used in court quite effectively.

"Mister Odinson," Jenn continued, "the evidence in front of us, _Object Skyhammer_," it still sat in the middle of the floor, unmoved, "can it be lifted by any individual?"

"Nei."

"Could you tell us why?"

"_It is an object of power and destruction, not to be taken lightly."_ Her client replied, his tone sincere. _"It was made to be a weapon to protect and defend, to bring the fight to those who seek to do harm. It has been enchanted by the Allfather Himself so as not to fall into the wrong hands."_

"By one whom is worthy of its ownership?"

"_That is correct."_ The witness replied with a nod of his head.

"And according to this enchantment described both in the _Prose Edda_ and _Poetic Edda_, anyone worthy of carrying _is_ Thor, is this not so?" Jenn continued on, relentless and uninterrupted.

"_That is also correct."_

"So… theoretically," the Esquire continued with her line of questioning, "_if _Mariusz Zbigniew Pudzianowski had been able to pick up _Object Skyhammer_, he would have the right to call himself Thor, Thane of Valhalla, rightful owner of Møljnir, Sworn Guardian of the Nine Realms, Watcher of Yggdrasil, Lord Marshal of the Einherjar, and Sworn Defender of Midgard, is that not so?"

"_That is correct."_

"And those here today would be able to witness this non-Earth object attest to this beyond a doubt."

"Ja." Her client answered.

"And anyone is free to try? To challenge the current owner?" The lawyer continued. "Anyone of Asgard or Midgard? To prove themselves worthy or not?"

"Innvending!"

"Overstyre." Magistrate Svendsen replied.

"_Correct."_ Her client replied.

"No formal declaration, no legal paperwork, no contest of champions?" Jenn asked. "Just simply walk on over, grab it by its handle and see if one can pick it up?"

"Ja."

Jenn nodded slowly as she turned to face the spectators.

"Whom here in the courtroom feels man enough to prove themselves worthy of the name of Thor?" She asked out loud, facing hundreds. "Whom here would like to claim to be the Thane of Valhalla, a sacred defender of the Realms of Yggdrasil, to battle giant and dwarf in the name of Asgard and the Allfathers?" Jenn's eyes swept the crowd. "Who here can find it in their hearts to claim the mantle of the _God of Thunder_, to fight in the name of others? To face alien and mystical creature, to wrought peace with legendary courage and prowess in battle? To face foes beyond description and reality in the name of Man and Gods, to fight for the people of the Nine Realms, to be hailed as a hero to all? _WHOM HERE IS WORTHY?"_

Jennifer Walters looked to the spectators, seeing troubled looks and shame in the faces of the Norwegian people, knowing that many were too afraid to try. Some looked to the hammer on the floor, wonder and curiosity in their eyes, but something held them back, something inside their souls likely told them that it would be for naught. Of the hundreds who sat in the spectators' section behind the barrister, only one had the audacity to stand and try.

"I shall."

Jenn didn't doubt that the _other_ Prince would try.

"I would like the court to recognize that Prince Haakon Magnus, son of Harald the Fifth, King of Norway, has elected to believe that _Object Skyhammer_ is the Mjolnir of legend, and has elected to prove himself worthy." Jenn spoke up, a murmur in the crowd.

"Innvending!" The Royal District Attorney spoke up.

"Nei." The Crown Prince of Norway replied, touching the prosecutor on his shoulder from over the barrister. _"For the honor of House Glücksburg and the people of Norway, I shall prove my worth."_ Unlike most in the courtroom, Prince Haakon was not wearing a suit jacket, but a military undress uniform that was adorn with the rank of _Flagkommandør_ upon his shoulderboards, showing an anchor and a single star against a field of corn yellow; an Admiral, as Jenn understood it. The Prince of Norway crossed the threshold into the official court and stood where _Object Skyhammer_ laid on its side, reaching down to pick it up, straining to do so. And then grunting. Two hands went to the hilt as the Crown Prince tried to pick up the hammer, getting down on one knee to try and either shove it up or forward.

Like with Pudzianowski, it didn't work, the mallet never moved at all. After a minute, the Crown Prince admitted defeat, the people applauding his attempts.

"Anyone else? Anyone at all?" Jenn looked on, now having the World's Strongest Man and Norway's own future King having tried and failed. With such personages, even the common man would likely shy from trying to upstage such august company. "Will no one here show their worth? To prove themselves to take on the title of _THOR!_"

A minute of silence, a minute of guilty looks and shamed faces.

Jenn turned to her client and gave him a slight nod of her head. Everyone believed, without a doubt, what _Object Skyhammer_ was. No one would dare admit now that it was anything else other than what it was; the Mjolnir of legend, that magnificent weapon that defended the Realms of Yggdrasil by the hand of the ultimate warrior. No one tried… because they believed. In their hearts and minds, they knew.

It was time.

The blond-haired defendant stood from the witness stand, smoothing out his suit as he walked towards _Object Skyhammer_. Jenn stepped to one side as her client stood in front of the mallet, bent down…

…and simply scooped it up one-handedly with ease.

He held it aloft for all to see, raising the short-handled sledge above his head so as not to be denied as the crowd in the courtroom gasped in awe at the sight of that immovable object hoisted without issue or strain. Electricity danced down the handle as the suit disintegrated before their very eyes, being replaced with metal, materializing and fabricating itself as if by magic. Scale mail arms appeared while a ornamental breastplate assembled itself over his torso, metal greaves and scale mail leggings appeared where his slacks once were. A crimson cape held by gold medallions upon the shoulders draped from the broad shoulders as he stood before them.

There was no denying it now; what stood before them was the God of Thunder.

"Hail, Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard!" Jennifer Walters took to her knee, bending knee to a living creature for the first time in her life; near-sacrilege for an American who had been raised never to bow or bend knee to any man. Yet this wasn't any man; she had just proved in a court of law that this was a God. Many in the courtroom followed her in supplication, seeing the legendary warrior whom all had been told of when they were children, a figure of power and courage, a part of their history and heritage. In many ways, she had delivered to them a piece of history that could now be said to be irrefutable. Men and women bowed to the Prince of Asgard, including the Crown Prince of Norway, calling out his _full_ name, tears in their eyes.

"Your honor?

"The defense rests." Jennifer Walters said with a smile.

* * *

Author's Notes: I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. Two days… fifteen thousand words. Totes worth it.

Neutronium may or may not be the name of the metal that is the core of a white dwarf. Only in the Marvel Comics is it called _Uru_, and does not appear in Norse Mythology. Yet Mjolnir was said to be able to level mountains (and crush the skulls of giants and monsters).

I felt bad for Doctor Kristoffersen, the old man expert. Imagine you got brought in to disprove Jesus/Apollo/Buddha and found out... oh crap, they were sitting in front of you the whole time?

Mariusz Zbigniew Pudzianowski is a Real Life/Earth-1218 person, and the five-time record holder of the World's Strongest Man Competition. I didn't want to make an OC to prove Mjolnir what it was, so I went for a real-titled athlete for a little more realism and excitement. To me, this helps make the story that much better when it's someone you can look up and be "Damn, look at those muscles... but he can't pick up a hammer?" I have no idea how to say that name, though.

Yes, I could have had Thor just be Thor, but that wouldn't have been fun. Admit it, a trial proving Thor's worth is pretty sweet. Plus I wanted Jenn to get her own badass moment as a lawyer.


	10. The Legal Has Landed, V

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**LaGuardia International Airport, New York City, New York, June 3, 2012**

_+2 Days After Proving Thor Was A God _

Author's Note: 14 days. 10 Chapters. 70,000 words. 2,200+ reads. 60+ Fav/Follows. _Jennifer Walters: Avenger-in-Law_ has become my record fastest rising star thanks to all the love and support that I get from you, true believers. **_Excelsior!_**

* * *

The Challenger Bombardier 300 had already landed and taxi'ed at LaGuardia International Airport as Major Maria Jacoba Hill waited at the tarmac with a 'Blackwater' variant 2011 Cadillac Escalade with bulletproof windows, high-gauge steel chassis and body, and RunFlat tires for operations and missions that required 'hot' deployments. Yes, it was being used to shuffle and shuttle civilians now, but considering that some of those very civilians were extremely important and were likely only to become even more important, the up-armored Escalade had been jokingly called the 'Avenger One' and had the same technical specifications as that as codename _Stagecoach_; the Presidential Car.

Considering that it was about to be the host of a now-proven God and a woman who was about to become the nominal leader of the Avengers? Yeah, Hill agreed that the car was necessary.

The private jet finally let its passengers disembark after the motorized ramp reached its sealed hatch, five individuals exiting onto the staircase after one of the Stark Industries' flight attendants disembarked as was protocol for such things. The first off was Doctor Erik Stellan Selvig, and then Darcy Katherine Lewis. Thor and Doctor Jane Natalie Foster were practically snuggled into each other as they left as the last one to leave was Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq.

"Were you able to enjoy Oslo?" Maria asked the lawyer as the procession approached, seeing that the group seemed to be in a good mood after a several-hour flight that involved a refueling at Heathrow in London to make the trip over the Atlantic with the necessary fuel. One didn't fly taking chances in case of storms, turbulence, or having to circle an airport due to traffic. That was likely because of the win wrought in Norway by these five individuals to a variety of capacity for each of them. Doctor Foster and Miss Lewis didn't need to testify as much, but as Maria understood it, Doctor Selvig had been damn instrumental and a pro at the stand. Actually, she rather liked Doctor Erik Selvig.

"We got to visit a few things, got a few souvenirs for the boys back at the Tower and the girls back in SoCal." Jenn replied, and Hill had almost forgotten that Walters had three young woman in her life whom she had semi-adopted after her first case involving an injured worker. It wasn't something really tagged in a SHIELD file since there was no paperwork, but if one dug and looked at some purchases or some older MySpace pictures, one could easily see that Jennifer Walters had taken to being a surrogate mother to Jessica, Sarah, and Elizabeth Drew without qualms, and the girls had reciprocated. It was sweet, really. There was a smirk on the lawyers' face as she tossed a white-t-shirt Maria's way, the Major catching it one-handed as everyone made their way to the Cadillac. Maria opened up the shirt to see that it was custom-made print screen shirt that had a picture of a silhouetted hand holding a hammer with an inscription above and below it saying;

_I got to touch Thor's Hammer…_

…_and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt._

"Oh my fucking God…" Maria snorted as she shook her head, chuckling. A lawyer with a sense of humor? Everyone was screwed. It was a campy present, but it was funny and showed that the lawyer actually did care if she went out of her way to do the little things that showed she appreciated others. "Wait, did everyone get shirts?"

"Some got shirts, some got other gag gifts. Didn't seem right to visit a foreign country and not get something that was a little funny and a little caring at the same time." The Esquire said as everyone got into the Escalade, Jenn taking the front seat while Thor and Jane were already snuggling in the back row seat while Darcy and Eric took the middle. More people had wanted to come to pick up the so-called 'Norwegian Chapter' of the Avengers, but getting everyone to come meant a bus. And Tony wasn't allowed to fly in restricted airspaces like airports, which he actually respected. "I seriously got Bruce some dork glasses. I'd thought it be _really_ cheesy to get Tony a snow globe village." That had Maria cracking up as she started the Cadillac and began pulling out of the tarmac area, her credentials letting her into the restricted area with ease.

An NSA badge would do that.

* * *

Jennifer Walters spent all ten seconds in what she suspected to be a bulletproof vehicle before she did what just about anyone did when having nothing to do at the moment; pulled out her cell phone.

Her Stark Industries-created _iStark_ (seriously, it needed a better name!) showed that it had blown up during her flight from Norway, having opted to go into airplane mode so she could spend time with the occupants in the plane. Both Doctors Selvig and Foster were interested in working with _The Avengers Foundation_, which would be an incredible boon, and Darcy Lewis had expressed interests in helping out as well, a PoliSci Major certainly being someone useful to have in keeping abreast with the constantly-shifting political environment. Someone like Darcy would actually be a great public relations officer or a representative towards interests. Jennifer knew that as smart as she was, she was well-versed in the aspects of legal affairs and business operations thanks to her opening and running her own law practice. While Walters and Associates would be nothing like _Avengers, Incorporated_ and _The Avengers Foundation_, at least she understood the business acumen of it.

In the other areas, she would need experts. And quickly.

The first people she combed were associates of the members of the Avengers that had stood by their sides before that fateful day when aliens invaded Earth. When Jenn had thrown caution to the wind to help her cousin Doctor Bruce Banner in his darkest day and his time in need, she had unknowingly entered a select fraternity. There were others who were like her, who had stood by the side such titans for whatever reasons they had, but had never faltered.

Doctor Elizabeth Ross was one of them, who had been there for Bruce when he had been attacked at Culver University. Doctors Selvig and Foster, as well as Darcy, were some more. Clinton Barton… had a family, and his wife was a former Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. While most everyone that Captain Steve Rogers knew had passed away, perhaps not so surprisingly one of his compatriots from the Howling Commandos, First Sergeant Timothy 'Dum Dum' Dugan, had a legacy follow in his footsteps. Both of his sons had served in the United States Army, both becoming Green Berets, and a grandson, Lieutenant (j.g.) Nathaniel Dugan, was a Navy SEAL. While perhaps not as personally invested as herself or Betsy Ross, having a lifetime of stories being told that one's grandfather personally served at Captain America's side would likely have Nate Dugan finding out if he had the same grit.

She had that and more looking for those who were willing to join a much higher cause.

Her thumbs were flying over the holographic keyboard as she texted Tony.

_Thunder leaves Tuesday,_ Jenn texted the billionaire industrialist, _we need to throw a going-away shindig._

-_Certainly,_ came the reply a moment later. _Thankfully, throwing parties is a specialty of mine. I'll contact the caterers. Festivities?_

_Simple fun,_ Jenn replied, mulling it over for a moment. _Let the boys hang out, a little drinking and roughhousing. I'll take care of the girls. Make time for snuggling for Thunder and Stargazer. Party tonight, Monday for the love birds._

_-Oh, I get snuggling time? Pepper would appreciate that,_ that had the lawyer snort. _How many people?_ Jenn looked over to the driver side of the vehicle, seeing Maria Hill operating the Cadillac with ease.

_Anyone that had anything to do with us in a good way. Maybe we can get Pirate shitfaced. _That was the codename for Director Nick Fury, Tony's invention. Jenn had met the man once for exactly one minute. She wonder how more fearsome he would be with _both_ eyes.

_-Thunder drinking Pirate under the table? Entertainment's covered._ That had the Esquire chuckling, getting Hill to look at her askance for a moment. _I'll get the caterers, you get the RSVP's._

_Better than me asking for Popa Tony's credit card,_ Jenn typed back with a snort, figuring Stark would get a hoot out of that.

"Hey, Maria, you got anything really important you can ditch tonight?" Jenn asked the SHIELD Agent as they left LaGuardia proper and began heading towards the City.

"Well, between the salon, my nails, my boyfriend, my girlfriend, the rave scene, and practicing my Tokyo Drifting skills on the Avenue of the Americas, I think I can fit something in. Why?"

"You snarked? You snarked!" Jenn _faux_-shocked by dramatically placing a hand over her heart and gasping theatrically. "Behind that tough feminine exterior is a little badass ready to get into some pranks! Oh, this could be fun." The Agent merely chuckled, but she did look amused. "We're going to hold a party night for Thor's departure. It's for all those who were there in our time of need, and that includes you. So try to wear something other than the Men in Black suit?"

"I saw you in that little cocktail dress the other night, Miss Walters." Hill reminded her, a knowing smile on her lip-glossed lips. "Don't make me upstage you in your own house. That'd be embarrassing."

"Simple casual is fine. This is a fond farewell, and it should be about all of us, not our egos." Jenn replied, seeing the other woman nod her head as a casual look back showed Jenn that Eric and Darcy were discussing something with each other while Thor and Jane were kissing enough to make a bad romcom. "We need some things to cement the team, something that holds them together in times of peace just as much as times of war." That had the driver nodding her head. "Remembering the hard times and honoring those who couldn't be here is one way to do it as much as sharing time with each other with our hair let down."

"That… that would be good." Jennifer remembered that SHIELD had lost a high-level Agent and Maria Hill as close associate in Agent Philip Coulson, a man who had died standing up to a God without fear. Jenn wished she could have met him. Thor spoke quite highly of him, and even Tony admitted that the man was a solid character when solidity and courage had been needed. Remembering the fallen was one way to bring people together, that she remembered from her father, Sheriff Morris Walters. Some police officers spent years with a partner, almost becoming adopted family members due to time spent and situations faced. It was almost impossible not to trust someone when they watched ones' back so long and with such fervor.

"Earth to Walters."

"Yes? Sorry, I was thinking." Jenn looked to Maria, who was driving down towards Manhattan. "I think a good solid party is just what the Doctor ordered. And we have several to choose from."

"We've all been running a little on empty ever since Loki first came to Earth." The Agent admitted. "You're right, some proper downtime and bonding is what we need. Just… probably wouldn't bring your boyfriend into it." Jennifer's head snapped towards the suited woman, who was doing her best not to obviously smirk. _"I've got a train of thoughts that carry you on home…"_, Hill began to sing one of _A-Bomb's_ more popular songs, indicating that she knew who Jenn had seen the previous weekend. Rick Jones didn't know about her actual job or whom it was for… yes. She wasn't about to tell some man she had just met, no matter how awesome he was, that she was _the Avengers' attorney_. Yes, likely the world was probably finding out after the next several days.

"Don't make me file an inquest and an audit, Major."

"So _touchy_, Counselor." Maria was smirking way too much for her own good.

"Can… we leave the car before you two destroy each other?" Darcy Lewis asked from the seat behind them, the PoliSci student sounding worried.

* * *

They came 'home' to a welcome home party. That Jenn hadn't been expecting.

The Stark Tower Penthouse had been spruced up with a bit of a festive atmosphere as a few streamers and a couple banners were introduced to the main gathering room where the Hulk had once pulverized a God by stamping his outline on the floor a few times over as the lawyer understood it. That damage had been fixed, but the room had been an occasion for the team known throughout the world as _the Avengers_; it was there they had stood together, once to face an alien armada, once to face a fallen God, and finally to come together to fix a broken city filled with too many holes both in structures and in lives.

Jenn hadn't been expecting a bit of a guest list, either.

"_Mom!"_ Came from three feminine voices as three young woman practically rushed to tackle Jennifer Walters as she exited the elevator and onto the eighty-ninth floor of Stark Tower; where the Avengers lived. Jenn was barely out of the conveyance and in the landing when three teenaged figures dashed towards her with glee.

"Kids!" There was no use hiding the smile on her face as she was practically tackled by her informally-adopted daughters, holding all three of them as they found ways to hug her at the same time admist laughter and embraces as Jenn looked further ahead to see the members of the Avengers there as well as others, and the one guilty face responsible for bringing her children from California there for her to enjoy, no shame on that well-photographed face.

Of course. Tony.

"_OhmyGodIcan'tbelievewegottomeettheAvengers!"_ Elizabeth Katherine 'Libby' Drew gushed out, the youngest of the Drew girls holding Jenn around her waist, somewhere around her left hip as a pair of fifteen-year old eyes beamed like a child on Christmas morn. _"OhmyGodit'sThor!"_ She squeaked out excitedly as she saw who else exited the elevator. Those gleeful eyes immediately went to doe-eyed as eyelashes were batted and a sigh escaped her lips.

_Fifteen-year olds_, Jenn just thought with a sigh.

"Uncle Bruce got to show us around!" Sarah Felicity Drew explained quickly at her right hip, the seventeen-year old young woman all smiles, obviously remembering the man who had been more than a bit touched when he had first been introduced to the Drew girls twelve years prior. Like Jenn, Doctor Bruce Banner had been touched at the thought of children, and would visit when he could, doting on the girls properly and without shame.

When they had been younger, the girls had been told that while 'Mom' and Bruce were cousins, that they had been raised together like brother and sister. That had gotten Bruce the title 'uncle', and Bruce had been touched by it. He did the proper thing by spoiling them whenever he visited. "He showed us his lab and all the things he's doing to help New York!" Neither Libby nor Sarah knew exactly why Uncle Bruce had been gone for nearly nine years, not the real reason. Jenn had told them when they were younger that he had been a part of the Doctors-Without-Borders program, providing humanitarian aid and relief to those without. Technically, that had been true at first.

"Stared at the toys?" Walters asked Sarah, who like all seventeen-year old women from Southern California, possessed the superhuman ability of technological adoration and understanding that stumped adults, especially when it came to cell phones, video game consoles, and the internet.

"Invisible screen TV's! I want one!" The middle Drew girl exclaimed with a giggle, the now-Senior High Schooler gushing. That had Jennifer laugh.

But who occupied the middle of the three girls, whose arms were around Jenn's shoulders was the young woman who had been, as a young child, the one that first stole Jennifer's heart. A seven-year old girl doing her best in a bad situation with a near-crippled father trying to take care of her injured Dad and her sisters, too.

It was she that had earned Jenn's recognition and admiration, and it was she that Jenn had made that promise oh so long ago to _actually_ be there for their family more so than just a lawyer. Those weeks before the lawsuit was finalized and Jonathan Drew was able to walk around the house and help out without being in pain, it was her than Jenn became the surrogate mother to first, more so than just child care. Jenn taught her not only how to cook, but what it meant for a woman who provided to those she loved. It was her that Jenn showed how a woman could show herself with dignity and pride without having to exploit herself. From those days of teaching her how just a careful application of make-up could set a man to drool or stun them into silence, to how to make a man look her in the eyes… and keep them there to take her seriously, it was she that Jenn initially took under her wing, turning that young girl into a woman, an endeavor of years that had always touched the lawyer's heart. When she labeled Jenn 'Mom' and meant it, the younger girls fell right in line. When Jennifer had earned that title, it had been the eldest daughter of Jonathan Drew that had given her final seal of approval, and it had been something that Jennifer had always appreciated as her forehead pressed against her oldest daughters' forehead with love and devotion.

Jessica Miriam Drew.

"We've all missed you, Mom." Jessica said as her green eyes closed for a moment to savor reuniting with her mother after several months of being away at college in the University of California (Berkeley). "We got a call from the CEO of Stark Industries with an invite, and you know I still got Dad wrapped around my little finger." Jenn snorted at the declaration. She had been the one to teach Jessica that little lesson; all daughters had their fathers' in the palm of their hand, after all. "School ended for Sara and Libby on Wednesday, and you know I finished up last week," the lawyer had most certainly been keeping track of that, "so getting Dad to say yes wasn't hard, especially since he knew you would be here to keep us _mostly_ out of trouble."

"Mostly." Jenn agreed as she finally let go of the two younger girls to embrace the eldest of the Drew girls, holding onto Jessica fiercely. "It's good to see you, Jess. I swear I turn around and wonder where the hell that little girl went and see this beautiful young woman standing in her place and God it just makes my heart burst in joy." The younger girls had been just young enough not to really remember a time before Jenn had been in their lives. To them, Jenn was the mother they remembered; lawyer during the week, but taking the girls out on the weekends to shop or visit the many things Southern California had to offer. John was a good man and a good father (both knew they were nowhere near compatible, but they were friends), but understood that it really took a woman to raise a woman, and the girls' mother had left them all to become a movie star. That hadn't really worked out all that well for Alicia Drew, who wanted to be a movie star before becoming pregnant with Jessica right out of High School, and left when her oldest daughter was six and her youngest two. Only Jessica knew what happened to their mother, told years later by Jennifer when she was fifteen and actually remembered the woman that abandoned them.

Their mother had wanted to be in the movie industry, but ended up in the adult entertainment industry. No girl wanted to find out that they were the daughter of a small-time porn star.

"Well," Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark spoke up, with Virginia 'Pepper' Potts by his side as several others stood nearby where the celebration was obviously going to be taking place, "considering that this party is going to be a two-fold one, let's get our travelers settled in so we can get the set-up complete for tonight."

"There will be a celebration?" Thor asked, standing with Doctor Jane Foster by his side, his arm around her casually. His tone was warming up.

"Of course!" Tony replied as it was the most natural thing in the world. "First? Every one of you were responsible for a great, public, _visible_ victory for us all." The billionaire had that world-famous smile that got plastered on many a magazine, the one that said that he was completely in his element. Someone else needed this too, Jenn noted with a smile. "We won against the Chitauri, and that's good. We're helping with clean-up and rescue, and that's good, too. But now we're building steam, showing people that we're here to stay in a good way. We had ourselves another fight, and we tucked in another victory in our belts.

"And it was thanks to our newest member. Our very own Avenger-in-Law."

Everyone in the room began to applaud, twenty-something people clapping as Jenn felt her cheeks heat up, blushing for all to see. When the world was in need, the Avengers had been there. When the Avengers were in need, _she_ had been there. She had proved herself to the members of the Avengers, both in past and present. She had showed the world what she could do. Tony had known of her plan; to prove Thor's Asgardian lineage so that when she brought _Avengers, Incorporated_ and _The Avengers Foundation_ to light, she would be a known quantity when revealing herself its Chief Executive Officer. The others had been informed of the plan, understood its necessity, and had agreed to it; they would agree to her leadership if she could prove her worth.

"Second? Thanks to Jenn," Tony continued, taking center stage with ease, years of practice making him a natural showman, "we are now getting the clout in the publics' eye that we need to be sustainable and accepted. When _Avengers, Incorporated_ is revealed to the world? When _The Avengers Foundations_ announces its intentions that will help us continue at our mission? We now will have someone the world can look to and see that this isn't about being a superhero, a super-powered person, or just sitting up in a tower to lord over all. A very _human_ face will take the helm so that the people understand that we're here to help them, that we are going to be the thing that helps mold the future for a better tomorrow. Showing the world that a human being is valued by their talents is a good thing," Tony was in his prime, the business magnate who led the industry not only from the weight of his inventions but his charisma too, "but showing them that a human being is in charge will show them that we aren't necessarily placing ourselves above them, either. Our job _is_ them, and having a woman who can prove just that sets that standard that people can believe in. Which is why we voted as soon as we heard of Thor's declaration in a Norwegian courtroom." Tony smiled at her, and Jenn felt a little bashful at the announcement. She hadn't set the meeting for herself, having left it to the original members to decide when they felt it was time.

As Thor had done, she had proved herself worthy.

"To Jennifer Walters, Avenger-in-Law and CEO of the _Avengers_." Tony Stark declared, the Iron Man announcing for one and all.

"_To Jennifer!"_ The other Avengers declared, making Walters blush as she felt her daughters all hug her in celebration as the others in attendance applauded at the announcement.

What they knew now would soon be known to the world.

The _Avengers_ would be here to stay. For the people.

For the world.

* * *

Evening had come and the festivities of the celebration had come as thirty-two people shared in the festivities that was both a celebration and a farewell. The boys were doing their own thing that mostly involved beer and baseball, giving them excuse to chatter and gossip in a manly way free from feminine reprisal in one of the dens of Stark Tower while the girls occupied another room on the same level, chattering and gossiping without the guys having to roll their eyes at feminine discourse.

Jessica Miriam Drew found herself in rather august company.

There were several comfortable-yet-expensive couches that had been taken over by the women of the group, her younger sisters Sarah and Libby pulled away by the lull of of an X-Box connected to a screen much better than the one that they had at home so that they could play their imported profiles on _Mass Effect 3's_ multiplayer. Jess knew that the girls were immediately and sufficiently distracted from the adult conversation (in which Sarah and Libby would get bored with in five minutes) playing the Sci Fi-based video game that somehow ended up with a rather crappy ending that had sent both of her sisters to near-tears about some alien guy named _Garrus Vakarian_. Jessica didn't even bother to pretend to get it.

"So you're getting a degree in Photography?" That was Virgina 'Pepper' Potts, former long-time executive assistant for Tony Stark and current Chief Executive Officer of Stark Industries. One of the richest women in the world, and the second-richest self-made woman in America, talking to her was akin to… well, Jessica had talked to Tony Stark. It was just as impressive. "Berkeley's a good school. A Liberal Arts Degree from there will certainly open doors. I actually went to UC Santa Barbara for Anthropology before changing my degree to business management. Found that I had a real knack for it."

"Well, I… kinda got noticed." Jessica found herself liking Pepper, down-to-earth woman with a great deal of common sense and probably an ungodly amount of patience considering who her former boss was (and technically, she was _Tony's_ boss now!). "I haven't had a chance to tell Mom yet…"

"Tell me what, dear?" Jennifer Walters asked, sitting at a nearby couch and talking to _the Black Widow_ casually. Jessica, probably liked all women her age, found the redhead inspiring as a testament at what a woman could do. Meeting her face-to-face had been something else. Oh, Natasha Romanoff was a very polite woman, but there was something inherently… scary about her. How many options were there for a person with no noticeable superpowers to be included into a group of superheroes? Chatroom rumors said she was an espionage agent, but videos of the Battle of New York showed her engaging Chitauri foot soldiers wit her bare hands… and winning. The darker rumors suggested _assassin_. Meeting the woman face-to-face? It had certainly been memorable.

"Oh, um…" _Great, right in the spotlight of _two_ CEO's, a super assassin, an FBI Agent with the first name of _'Major'_, a Doctor of Astrophysics, a PoliSci badass that's friends with Thor, and they're all looking at me_, Jessica grumped internally as she saw that she had _all_ of their attention. "I… got a job offer. Of sorts."

"You still have a year left for your degree, and someone wants to hire you before?" The Esquire asked curiously, frowning just a little. Thankfully, Mom had been big on letting her make her own decisions. Yes, she would certainly provide guidance and advice to make sure Jessica was making _good_ decisions for herself, but they would be her own decisions. "Must be pretty big to pick up a college kid two-thirds of their way to their degree." _God, Mom's going to nuke me_, Jessica winced as she said who had made the offer.

"It's… Langley."

Jennifer Walters looked at her, blinked several times, and connected the name of the city in Virginia with its more well-known organization as Natasha Romanoff had a raised eyebrow, obviously having already figured it out. Everyone else was looking at her with either curiosity (they hadn't made the obvious connection yet), or surprise (because they had).

"The… CIA?" The lawyer asked, and the young woman could hear her Mom's voice, the way her heart hit her throat. While there was nothing really 'wrong' with working with the Central Intelligence Agency, their history and reputation wasn't exactly sterling. Neither was some of the employment opportunities they offered.

"Met more than a few kids like you, Art Degree kids going into analysis jobs, satellite imagery, video reconstruction and analysis, and the tried-and-true photographic evidence shot." Major Maria Hill said, nodding. "Wars and bad men have been stopped with cameras alone, Jessica. Heck, your Mom just used photographic evidence to help prove that a God exists in a court of law. Someone has to take those pictures and be considered an expert to give credence to that evidence. Don't knock a trade craft that has showed itself so useful not only in the years before, but today, too."

"That's certainly true." Jennifer nodded, looking a little less uncertain about the idea. "What do you think, honey?"

_I practiced this speech a dozen times, even had points I wanted to hit,_ Jessica thought as her hands went clammy and her throat went dry. _Now that I'm looking right at her, that went right out the window. How the heck does she do this with a jury?_

"I… want to." Jessica stumbled a little, wondering why it was so difficult. Her mother obvious saw the discomfort as she moved to sit next to her, slipping an easy arm around her to support her figuratively while being closer to her. This was the mother she knew and trusted, the one that had won a young girl's devotion and admiration, to had stood to be a mother figure and kept that promise when there was no other reason to do so other than it being the right thing to do. The young woman rested her head against the taller woman's shoulder and accepted that comfort and support. "I guess it's… just so big of a step. I just worry if I'm mature enough, if it's the right thing for me. I… don't like the idea of failing or jumping into something unprepared." God, she had just unloaded her fears in front of strangers that she had just met that day. Yet these strangers _would_ understand the young woman's concern; each of them had done something similar, hadn't they?

"Those are smart concerns. _Mature_ concerns." That was Doctor Jane Foster, armed with a wine glass and a knowing smile. "I remember the very day I felt that way, too. I was a twenty-five year old Doctor of Astrophysics when I found myself standing in my first classroom with students looking in on me. Normally, you get your Doctorate at around twenty-six, and start getting students in your early thirties, yet I was in my mid-twenties. I realized I was barely older than the kids I was teaching, that they all were depending on me. I… might have thrown up five minutes before the class." That had Darcy Lewis snort. "Still delivered that class in front of about forty students expecting their Professor to stand in front of a class and deliver a lecture. After that, it became a lot easier. Bet Jenn probably felt the same way during a big court case at an opening or closing statement."

"There were those, but the real big one was a settlement with an insurance company where they brought out the big guns and had something like twenty litigators to go over every nuance of an agreement to trip me up back when I was working in the Goodman Office." Her Mom admitted. "Trust me, facing down twenty lawyers pressuring you to make one little mistake on a document will teach you the very word _stress_." Jenn looked over to her and leaned her head on top of the younger woman's. "But I had good reasons to prove myself."

_That's it!_

It suddenly made sense to her, something she had known her whole life but evolving as she got older. When she was a child, she had always sought Jenn's approval, the woman who _chose_ to be her mother. It hadn't been out of obligation or rote; Jennifer Walters had done so because she had seen the situation that Jessica could still remember back when she was a little girl and had determined to step up for the sake of children simply because it was the right thing to do. As Jessica got older, those needs of maternal affection had evolved, no longer so dependent on survival as they were social and feminine-related. It had been Jenn who taught what it meant to be a good woman, to hold her head up high and walk her own path, to show that she wasn't just some pretty face or pretty body only meant for coveting, that she had worth. She always had a good eye, and photography had come naturally to her. Jenn had encouraged her talents, never forcing her down a path not of her own choosing. Because of that encouragement and support, Jessica was able to earn her way into a highly-regarded University with a scholarship to her name. That had been a big day for her, and Mom had been the first one Jessica had told.

That whole time Jessica had needed encouragement and support, she never knew she had been doing the same for Jennifer, too.

_Mom made me a good woman, and I helped her become a better woman, to show what it meant in the eyes of a child,_ Jessica realized as she slipped her arms to hold the woman sitting next to her, almost lost in the emotions she felt coursing through her. She wanted to do good with her life, to say that she had succeeded, like everyone else did. Now there was an opportunity right in her lap, a strange one to be sure, but one that spelled that very goal. No one doubted the quality that the CIA brought to its organization; like the FBI, they only got the best in the name of America and the protection of its people.

And like her Mom, she had been selected for something greater.

"I want to be able to prove myself." Jessica whispered to the woman holding her, uncaring that she was doing so in front of strangers. In a strange sort of way, they were like a fraternity; selected individuals who had stood up in the time of need of others, and now were in the very halls of power and prestige, each having gotten there in their own right. Wasn't that something Mom had wished for her? Something that she wished for herself? One day, she could be sitting right here as an equal, a sacred defender for those who defended all, defining the line that must not be crossed.

_And the next time some alien jackasses decide to take a crack at Earth, it won't be a last-minute team-up of cobbled-together superheroes,_ Jessica thought to herself, _but a full team of seasoned veterans with a support staff supporting them with the latest and greatest to make sure that something like New York never happens again._

_And I want to be one of them._

* * *

The party had wound down as most everyone began heading towards something representing a bed or other accommodations. With there being no school for the next day, the Drew girls were engaged in a four-man death match with Tony Stark as a part of their team in some sort of co-op game called _Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3_ involving shooters and terrorists. Of course the teenaged girls weren't about to sit out on the chance of sitting next to a billionaire industrialist with a perchance for tech toys and, evidently, first-person shooters. God forbid Tony might actually call it _training_ or something else as Jennifer Walters checked in on the girls (and Iron Man) to see them snarking and shooting through digital bad guys with ease.

Kids! _All_ of them!

Thor and Doctor Jane Foster had already left for the evening, and most of the Avengers had wandered off to do their own thing; evidently there was a bit of a challenge between Clinton Barton and Steven Rogers in a game of pool that had grabbed a few people at one of the lower floors of the Penthouse that probably wouldn't end up in a disaster. The main room that the boys had occupied looked exactly as it should; a group meeting of empty beer bottles and cans along with their friends popcorn and pretzels for a televised baseball game between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. Everyone else had vacated save Bruce, who had crashed on one of the couches, dead to the world. Jenn looked at Doctor Banner with a smile, seeing his face finally at peace, no worry or grief etched upon it. Jennifer moved over to him and grabbed his tweed jacket that he had taken off at some point in time, covering his form with it as she gave him a smile as he slept.

"It's good to see you with friends, with people that can see past the flaws and see _you_." Jennifer told her cousin's slumbering form, tucking him in. He worked as hard as everyone else despite the incredible burden he carried. That said much of the man's resolve and soul that he would continue on despite having the best reason in the world to remove himself from such stress. This was why Jennifer had looked up to Bruce when she was a child; she had always admired his spirit and intelligence. "Get some sleep, Bruce." Jenn leaned over and gave her cousin a light kiss on his forehead before turning away with the intent to going bed herself to get the sleep she needed for the next day when she accidentally kicked something on the ground with her right foot, hearing a clatter on the ground as she sucked in her breath at the feeling of bruised, aching toes.

"Oww. Who hell left… whatever it was on the ground?" Jenn winced at her smarting toes, looking down to see what she had accidentally kicked.

There was a hammer on the ground. With a too-large head. And a too-short shaft.

Jenn looked at it for a moment, then at her foot, then at the hammer that was about a foot away from where she had kicked it.

"Huh. I guess Tony thought a prop would be funny."

The lawyer bent down and scooped up the prop without any difficulty, wondering why Tony would think to make an exact replica out of what appeared to be wood and metal; it felt like the right amount of weight if made out of those materials. Snorting, Jenn moved to the kitchen portion with the intent to keep anyone else from accidentally kicking something they shouldn't…

…and set _the Grinder_ on the island.

* * *

_Fine - ARC II: The Legal Has Landed_

* * *

**ARC III: Some Assembly Required**

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, June 4, 2012**

_+3 Days After Proving Thor Was A God _

In front of a three dozen reporters from three dozen affiliates, a press conference was held in one of the ground floor conference rooms of the world-famous Stark Tower. A small stage and podium with small microphone had been set up in the front, with thirty-six folding chairs placed before it in rows. In the back, ten small-scaled news cameras were also set up, each manned by two to three network personnel to operate the footage, sound, and even connectivity for some of the more distant affiliates.

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., stood behind a side door along with Virgina 'Pepper' Potts, waiting for the show to begin, so to speak.

"Nervous?" Pepper asked, the CEO of Stark Industries looking to the lawyer as she consulted her notes and speech. There was an art to press conferences, and she was learning from the best.

"More people than a jury, but the same statistical pool, too." Jenn replied, trying not to fret. She had worn her best Louis Vuitton, a black one-piece short sleeved high neck fitted dress that was both classy and conservative. She didn't want to strike the public as being another suit, but also wanted to look serious. The dress did both at the same time; it was perfect. "I think I'm rather glad I can write a good speech, but you have a point in having another on hand to keep more abreast on things as well as another set of eyes. Lord knows we watch politicians and the rich shove their feet into their mouths to know it can happen to anyone and everyone."

"Trust me, I use to eyeball Tony's disasters until I realize it didn't matter what was written; he always spoke off-the-cuff." The businesswoman scoffed, but there was a hint of a smile there. "Honestly, the public adored it. He always spoke from the heart, and was never apologetic about it. I think they admired the honesty when so many at his level would change and defend their words from day-to-day. Good advice in the days to come, Jenn." That the lawyer had to admit _was_ good advice. "Here comes Tony." Jenn looked out the slightly-opened door to see Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark decked out in a custom-fitted David Edward double-breasted wool suit that was a black high gloss with an urban digicamo tie over a white buttoned shirt and a pair of Wayfarer tinted glasses, as always setting his own style and everyone else trying to follow.

"Afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the press," Tony began, heralding his own presence as oppose to someone else, something he was wont to do, "you know who I am and what I do. For a change though, I'm not going talk about me." That got a knowing chuckle from the reporter crowd, who just loved Tony's spontaneity. "No, I'm here to talk about you, all of you in fact! From the men and women in this room to the men and women watching at home or logging on. Because everyone deserves a right to know.

"Today, I'm going to talk about a woman." Tony told the crowd (and further). "Insert your 'uh-oh's' here." That got another chuckle. "As I'm sure many of you are learning about if you weren't aware of it over the weekend, there was a rather monumental legal case in Norway. One could say it had rather _omnipotent_ potential.

"I, of course, am referring to the case of _Thor versus the Kingdom of Norway_," the billionaire continued, "but who I'm really talking about is the woman behind that landmark victory."

Jenn could practically hear the electronic whirs of digital pictures being taken happening at the dozen-per-second.

"The news, the media, and the public have their rumors and guesses, and I'm here to dispel them all." The industrialist continued. "While some were amusing, none came close to the woman that we of the Avengers had brought in for _our_ time of need, to be there for _us_ when we needed it. We needed a champion, an Avenger of our own. And today I'm going to introduce you to her.

"I would like for you to meet the Chief Executive Officer of the Avengers, the _Avengers, Incorporated_ Non-Profit Organization, and _The Avengers Foundation_, Jennifer Susan Walters."

Jenn took a deep breath, looked to Pepper, who gave her a confident smile and a nod, before walking out through that door to take center stage.

And introduced herself the world.

* * *

Author's Note: One of the things I try to hit upon this story is the fact that it's in 2012. I might have forgotten some of the troupes and smaller aspects of that year (like it's most popular song and artist, or some of the news), but I wanted it to feel like 2012, mentioning things during that year in our world and putting it into the MCU. The one thing I do avoid mentioning is (obviously) Marvel Comic references and anything pertaining to it; TV shows (including the cartoons and the TV _Hulk_), 80's movies (don't bother, they all pretty much sucked), 90's movies (like _Blade_), and even the pre-MCU movies (_X-Men_, _Spider-Man_, and _Daredevil/Electra_). The only thing that got a nod was 2003 _Hulk_ for obvious reasons.

_Stagecoach_ is the callsign for 'Cadillac One', and its specifications are _intentionally_ left unknown. Publicly, it has been released that it can survive a hit from an RPG egg.

Did… I reference MySpace? SRSLY!? Facebook was really gaining steam in the years just before this, but MySpace was still around. But the reference I made was in the past, in the 2000's when MySpace was the social media king.

I Easter Egg-dropped the Drew girls in The Legal Has Landed, I when Happy and Jenn were in the Chinese restaurant and Jenn explained her informal adoption of the kids of her first case involving Jonathan Drew when he was injured during a work-related accident, never 'tying' their names together; Libby, Sarah, and Jessica. I teased you this way so that when I introduced a character that will be involved in the next movie (CA:WS), I didn't just drop someone in mid-term; there's establishment involved. You were taking notes, right?

But yes. It's _that_ Jessica Miriam Drew.

Funny enough, I've had a few people who read this story not knowing who Jennifer Walters was, obviously fans of the movies and TV shows (or at least pulled in by my summary). So there might be a few of you whom don't know of Jessica Drew and her rather convoluted history (really, it's rather confusing). But for those who know of Jessica Drew from the Marvel Comics, yes…

…this is the yet-to-be Spider-Woman.

Not Spider-Gwen, Silk, or Spider-Girl; the original Spider-Woman who had her own cartoon in the 80's (which sucked). Like the She-Hulk, Spider-Woman was created to 'keep' the idea from DC making a female version of a popular character. Obviously, like Jenn of this story, her Origins are different (as I mentioned, Jess has a _very_ convoluted origin and history that I will utterly avoid), to be changed into something more in line with the movies/MCU (which fans of Spider-Woman probably won't mind considering said confusing comic history). Like Jenn, she is human…

…_for now_.

I tease myself a little bit in the chapter with the inclusion of _Mass Effect_; almost all of my FanFic stories are _Mass Effect_-based ones, and the third installment of the trilogy came out on March 4, 2012, as the games _Halo 4_, _Dishonored_, _Far Cry 3_, and _Telltale Series' The Walking Dead_ came out that year as well. To me, teenage women who play video games would likely be more interested in a game with a bit more to a story than just a pure shooting game (blood-soaked rampages would likely draw the guys), so I picked _Mass Effect_ out of that belief… plus there really were a slue of female gamers that loved the FemShep/Garrus ship. I also mention the horrible original ending; the _Extended Cut DLC_ didn't come out until June 6, 2012.

Generally, Executive Assistants get a degree (Associates, usually), but I couldn't find anything on Virginia Potts, who was created in 1963 when a female secretary probably didn't need a college degree for this caliber job. Pepper's mentioning of going to UCSB is actually a nod to Gweneth Paltrow, who went to Santa Barbara to take Anthropology before going into acting. Paltrow's father Bruce Paltrow is, btw, a producer/director best known for the television series _St. Elsewhere_. Her mother is Blythe Danner, an actress who has a great many awards for plays, television, and movies. She plays the mother in the _Meet The Parents_ series.

Wait! Did Jenn just…?

Well, I did just pretty much describe what most would consider an act of selfless love; raising children in need not out of obligation or marriage, but by choice out of the goodness of her heart, unable to walk away from a situation, not even when the situation improved. Jenn and John Drew never dated or got married. Jenn did it because she saw something wrong and made it into something right.

Most would consider that rather pretty… worthy.

The Louis Vuitton black one-piece short sleeved high neck fitted dress is a real dress (I thought it was the classiest out of the rest) that costs… USD $1,730.00.

I mention that Tony wears David Edward, who makes custom-made suits and whose name can be found in the credits of the _Iron Man_ movies showing Robert Downey Jr. in luxury business suits.


	11. Some Assembly Required, I

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, June 5, 2012**

_+1 Day After Jenn Outs Her Job To The World_

Author's Note: I'm going to release a jaw-dropper of an idea in the second part of this chapter on you that will make you wish it came true. It had a start in _The Avengers_ and might have made an impact in later movies (though it was seen in _Spider-Man: Homecoming_), but wasn't followed through. I'm taking it and running with it.

Jenn's going to privatize world peace. (and that's your hint)

* * *

As was per her norm back in California, Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., (CEO, Avengers) was doing her daily morning workout routine.

Except now instead of it being in a _CRUNCH_ Fitness facility, she was doing it in a gym designed for superheroes. She would know; she picked out some of the equipment herself and put it on the brand-new business-oriented line-of-credit. Having been delivered and installed, it could easily be said that the Avengers had the most sophisticated workout facility in the world. Soldiers, even Special Forces-types, used gyms made of metal bars, cables, and rubber resistance bands. Yes, the Avengers' Gym had those things, too, but several other ideas had been incorporated to keep its members not only peak _physical_ condition, but mentally as well.

Not only was it a weight training facility, but a range, a parkour track, a changing and evolving obstacle course, and probably the only facility in the world where one had to dodge _being shot at_ while working out to simulate dealing with any potential threat at any potential time in any potential condition (but generally when its was most inconvenient and one was tired and sweaty). Oh, the rounds weren't lethal, but Jenn had learned that _non-lethal rounds_ didn't equal _non-painful rounds_ the first time she got hit with a splatter bullet in the thigh that left her a nice welt and bruise.

She was currently running laps around the track when out of the corner of her eye she saw something round and red aimed right at her head. She barely ducked in time to see where the threat had come from.

Clinton Francis Barton, armed with… _dodgeballs?_

"Need to keep my aim up, Chief! Boss's orders!" The man called out with a grin that was _waaayyy_ too big as he launched another inflated rubber ball at her with uncanny accuracy, right for her head. Not only was it accurate, it was fast too, not being hurled by some middle schooler on a basketball court. He then whistled a four-bar tune to remind her why he had singled her out; the _Hunger Game_ tune she had teased him with the first day she had met the Hawkeye.

Just desserts at the hands of the worlds' most accurate man. Really, it was because he cared.

Jenn had a philosophy, one adopted from the United States Army that she had combed through with the aid of JARVIS, Tony's Natural Language Program and every-helpful Artificial Intelligence compiling through reams of dry reading to highlight things she thought she needed to know, trying to cover what would be years of experience in leading a specialized operations team in just a few short weeks. That philosophy struck a chord with her, something that police officers had emulated themselves; _never order a man to do someone one isn't willing to do so themselves._ She got it; how could one understand the difficulty of a mission or task if they hadn't done it themselves, or hadn't trained for it? To understand the complications that a mission might bring and the snap judgments and decisions one needed to make when things just went wrong? Jennifer knew she would never do an Avenger mission herself; she lacked all the qualifications. Yet she would train with them to show them that she would do her best to _understand_ that commitment and resolve, to prepare herself, both body and mind, just like they did. Plus there was always that possibility that someone would try to do something to her. At the least she wouldn't make a too-easy target.

Thus ducking dodgeballs while running a track.

Jenn ran by a shirtless Captain Steven Grant Rogers as he deadlifted weight via a pressure machine because a normal weightlifting bar would snap before he got close to his maximum, the bar able to adjust for either a selectable weight or consistent force depending on the users' wishes, and seeing the Super Solders' perfectly-muscled body ripple and bulge as he heaved the bar at (_holyfuckingshit_) twenty-five hundred pounds! That was the weight of a small car! Yes, Jenn knew that the Hulk could lift a _lot_ more than that, and the Iron Man Suit that Tony Stark wore was more capable, Steve was capable of that at _all_ times without the need of transformation or having a suit assembly device. These were just some of the things that Jenn had to work through when coming up with the team that would be the Avengers and not just a cobbled-together group of individuals.

Another dodgeball came whizzing at her like a fastball. Jenn barely juked it while still running. Then there was the sound of a gunshot (simulated) that had the Hawkeye dodging as the Gym's 'hostility' program targeted a random individual and shot them at random intervals for spontaneity. It specifically avoided those who were lifting heavy weights (that wasn't proper) and certainly zeroed in on those who were doing more cardiovascular exercises, calisthenics, or someone taking a rest in between workouts. Clint had been doing the least amount as a workout, and the program was now targeting him with splatter rounds. Somewhere over by the gymnastic equipment, Natasha Alianovna Romanoff was laughing at Clint's plight while doing what appeared to be Olympic gymnastic routines on the beam, handstands, cartwheels, and leaps on the four-inch wide raised bar. Actually, she was pretty damn good.

Jenn ran through her lap and completed it by running right to a pull-up bar, leaping up to catch the bar in her hands and did five exhausting chin-ups.

It wasn't even seven in the morning yet, and she had probably done more than most _soldiers_ did in a day.

The lawyer did her our routine, a mix of cardiovascular, cross-fit, and the obstacle course that had her limbs burning with fatigue and herself drenched with her own sweat. The Underarmor sports apparel that she wore was practically clinging to her as she exited the Gym to head to the ladies' shower, Natasha right behind her, still looking as if she could go another hour to her already two-hour routine. Jennifer knew she was nowhere near the same level of fitness that the Black Widow was at despite years of working out to stay slim and trim; a necessity for any SoCal woman who wanted to wear a two-piece bikini on a beach without shame or delusions. At thirty-two years of age, she knew that she could still put many women a decade younger than she to shame, having kept herself in both good health and in good eating habits as well. She had never been one of those 'New Year Resolution' types or one who gained a beach body right before the summer, which was close to six months long in Los Angeles. Never had she needed to do anything to alter her body that some women felt the need to do to look better without putting for the effort; she had no respect for those types. She had the body given to her by her mother, father, and God, and she had treated it properly with good eating habits, good workout routines, and a clean lifestyle save for some social drinking whenever she went out. She didn't need surgery or liposuction to make herself look better or feel better; that came from the inside, not from the outside.

"Uh, shower's going to feel _great_." Jenn told Natasha as they both began stripping off their workout clothes, Romanoff wearing something that was more like a leotard though more durable. The lawyer knew why the first time she had done her daily morning workout routine and had finished off and went to the shower in the middle of Natasha getting dried from her own shower to realize why the Black Widow preferred full-body outfits or clothes that covered everything.

The woman was covered in scars. _Lots_ of scars.

Jenn had said nothing, doing her best to politely ignore it. Women weren't known for showing off their scars with pride like a man might, so the Esquire had said nothing and did her best not to stare or steal looks, figuring that it was the best option. She did her best, but she had noticed something else, too. Before a few weeks ago, she never would have made the connection, but after seeing Steve Rogers without his shirt on and Natasha's own musculature…

There was no denying that Natasha Romanoff was at the peak performance of a human _woman_.

A Super Soldier. That explained a great deal. And frightened the shit out of Jenn for all the ethical reasons in the world.

"Is that a little bevel I see?"

Jenn looked to Natasha, who was down to her sports bra and workout spandex shorts, eying the lawyer's exposed belly. Jenn looked down to see that, yes, her abdomen was certainly getting some definition to it now that she had been working out almost daily in a much more intense manner than she had before. There was a hint of a valley going down the length of her belly, separated by her navel where the abdominal muscles sat to either side. It did look like four cute little river stones were living just underneath the skin of her stomach, not apparent, but not that subtle either.

"Washboard abs at thirty-two." Walters patted her abs with a smirk, knowing that Nat had her beat by a mile; the woman had a fucking _eight-pack_. Jenn hadn't even known that was possible for a woman without steroids or testosterone injections. "I've got a better belly than most women _and_ men my age. Yahoo." That sent the redhead laughing.

"Thank you. For not asking." The Black Widow said as Jenn paused as she was about to grab her shower caddy that contained her shampoo, conditioner, body wash, loofah, shaving cream, and disposable razor. She didn't need to be told what this was about. "I know you want to, but you also respect the fact that it's up to me if and when I talk about it. And for what it's worth, I'm glad you've been polite about it."

"Pretty obvious?" Jenn asked, knowing that she had _tried_ to be respectful about it.

"Not many people have seen me without clothes." Romanoff said softly, not suggesting something lewd or sexual, but to meant just her skin itself. "Most stare and gape, others have a thousand questions they don't have the right to ask. Only a couple have been… accepting. You have been one of them, so thank you. It does mean a lot."

"I believe it." She didn't have to think long about her cousin and his own condition. She knew the power of acceptance and what it could mean for a person who felt that they wouldn't find any. "Bruce."

"Yes, you would get it." The redhead nodded, finally peeling off the rest of her clothes to get ready for her shower. "One question." It wasn't a request, but an offering. _You get one question_, is what Natasha meant. A show of trust and respect from a spy.

"Are they dead?" Jennifer asked, looking the former SHIELD Agent in the eyes and not at her perfect but scarred body. "Whomever did that to you. Are they dead." Now it wasn't much a question. Natasha likely didn't have to think long and hard why such a thing would be a big deal for Walters; Bruce.

"Most all of them. A few escaped." Romanoff replied, her green eyes staring right back. "I keep tabs, I listen for anything related to what happened to me, to what I went through. And then I destroy it. _Hard_."

"If you think I've earned it or deserve it, I would like those names." Jennifer offered softly, looking at the spy. "I don't make promises lightly, Natasha. You know what I did for Bruce. You know what I did for my daughters." That had the redhead nodding slowly, knowing exactly what the lawyer was referring to. "We are family now, and family look out for one another, Nat. I don't doubt you keep tabs on me because it helps protect me, and I have no issues with that. If I can help with that search, I will." Jennifer didn't need to know the Widow's past or what the men had actually done, all that she needed to know was written on Natasha Romanoff's body. Someone had done something horrible to a woman (likely a young one), and they wouldn't stop with just a singular success or one project. They would move about and sell the idea and results to others, for money or ideology or reasons that really didn't matter at the end. Someone had perverted science and experimented on human beings for an agenda that didn't make it out to the public knowledge like _Project: Rebirth_ had.

Really, there was only one kind of punishment for _solopsism_; the view that one was the one and only true authority in which others were under. Another term was _grandiose narcissism_ or _delusional egotistical omnipotence_.

Acting as if one were God.

When _Avengers, Incorporated_ went official yesterday, its public website did so too, portraying its mission statement for everyone to see as all businesses did. Not only was _defense and protection of Planet Earth_ one of those missions, another was _prosecution of illegal, unethical, and immoral scientific research, development, and experimentation_, having been voted upon unanimously by the six members of the Avengers when proposed by its Chief Executive Officer. She brought up the topics, the Avengers voted on it, and she implemented it or changed it to a more agreeable manner that it would get the necessary votes to pass, as was detailed in the charter of the _Avengers, Incorporated_ Non-Profit Organization. Technically, Jennifer could only vote as a tie-breaker so as not to promote or push her own views and be seen as coercion. With there about to be _five_ members of the Avengers when Thor left for Asgard in the evening, Jenn had another responsibility to the team besides building it up and sustaining it.

The future; it was her responsibility to recruit.

* * *

Jennifer Walters officially sat in her brand-new office for the very first time. It was pretty easy to assume that she likely had the best corner office in the world.

"So going on a tour of the city?" Jenn asked the three young women who stood in her office, smiling as she saw Jessica, Sarah, and Elizabeth Drew excited to see New York City for their first time. Standing behind them was Harold 'Happy' Hogan, who would be chauffeuring the girls about for the day. The Drew girls knew that Jenn would be busy during the day, but would be joined by her later in the evening when normal hours were over. Thankfully, the girls were completely understanding of her job and knew that she was was doing something important. So the girls would be taking a tour of the city with some proper adult supervision (which they understood if weren't exactly thrilled with) while Jenn would take them for the evening and spend some proper time with them. New York City was practically candyland for teenage girls, and Jenn seriously doubted that they would be bored after a week of visiting the City, hardly covering a tenth of New York's world-famous attractions.

"We've got a game plan of the things we all want to see, so Happy won't be the rope in a tug-of-war on who wants to go where." Jessica replied with a smile, the eldest Drew sister taking charge of her sisters in a way that took consideration for all of them. Chances were, each had a choice of what they wanted to see, and Libby's choice was first. "I promise to return Happy in the same condition as I found him." There was a smile there.

"Hey, it's like a paid vacation for me." The driver replied, not at all looking as if he got stuck with babysitting duties. "I get to tour New York, and most of the choices are really good ones, so everyone wins." Well, that was good. "As I understand it, you're prepping the whole business thing and then getting at the insurance companies."

"Yeah, no rest for the wicked." The lawyer said, and she wasn't exaggerating. She had reams of data to go through pertaining to the case against the insurance companies, people to hire for both _Avengers, Incorporated_ in the form of both staff and support, and _The Avengers Foundation_ to promote the business and charities they would be involved in to fund the whole thing. Jennifer had set it up where the Avengers would be self-sustaining, able to finance themselves so that they could say they didn't answer to anyone but themselves while having a clear and publicly-accessible business statement as well as mission statement that described their intent and cause.

The kind of things that would legal protect them and endear them to the public.

"Give them heck, Mom." Libby came up and gave her a quick hug, Jenn returning it with a quick kiss to the young woman's cheek, making the fifteen-year old wince slightly at the public display of affection. Sarah and Jessica got the same treatment as well as she watched the girls leave, a smile on her face. She had a lot of work to do in the days ahead, but having her daughters there reminded her that the work she did was worth it. What reason could trump the one of that for the future? Of children? Having her girls that made it more real for her, made her efforts worth it. Yes she put in long, hard hours at her work, but when she left work… she left it. Home was for home time; for herself, for her girls.

_[Miss Walters, your nine o'clock appointment has arrived]_, JARVIS intoned through the desk phone that she had on her glasstop desk, pretending to be a sort of secretary for her when people who didn't know of the Natural Language Program and Artificial Intelligence. The kids didn't know, so JARVIS was masquerading as a silent doorman whenever the Drew girls were in the Penthouse.

"Good, send them up." Jenn replied, happy that her invitation was at least being entertained by two people she could certainly enjoy having with her efforts with _Avengers, Incorporated_ and _The Avengers Foundation_. Both her cousin Doctor Bruce Banner and Doctor Erik Selvig had spoke well of the man, and the woman was by no means anyone's second place.

One could say that their contributions would be of no small effort.

"Doctor Pym. Miss van Dyne." Jennifer stood up to shake the hands of Doctor Henry Jonathan 'Hank' Pym and his daughter, Hope Madeleine van Dyne, who took to the seats that were sitting across from her own across her desk. "Thank you for accepting my invitation and coming here from San Francisco on such short notice. Both Doctors Selvig and Banner speak very highly of you, Doctor, and said your physics research was on par with their own if not more so. Which is why I wished to bring you here today to extend an offer…"

"You're not getting the formula, Miss Walters." The sixty-eight year old man who had come in wearing a dress shirt, beige slacks, and a butternut windbreaker interrupted her. Walters was a little shocked at the assertiveness and venom in the man's tone.

"The… formula?" The lawyer asked, shaking her head slightly as she looked over to Hope van Dyne, who was now frowning. "Doctor, I know that you're a molecular physicist that focuses on the possibility of nanotechnology, as well as advancements in molecular and atomic studies and engineering, but…" The older man was now frowning, "…I'm not really sure what you're talking about."

"The Pym Particle." The Doctor reiterated. Walters literally had no idea what the man was talking about. "My life's work?" He reiterated, leaning forward in his chair and holding his hands in a way to indicate that it should have been obvious.

"Doctor," Jennifer felt like she was losing some debate that she wasn't even away that she was a part of, "I know that you're the former CEO of Pym Technologies, who is the forefront of molecular engineering and studies in making more structurally-sound materials for building and vehicles, especially in dangerous environments like underwater or space. I set up a meeting for both you and your daughter," Walters nodded towards Hope, "because you created a multi-billion dollar corporation and were the industry leader. I happen to have the world's largest supply of alien technology that we need to study to make safe first, and then look into ways that we can use it for energy production and external threat detection and defense. Erik and Bruce said that you were even better than they were, and vouched for you. Which is why I extended the offer." The older man just sat back in his seat, blinking at her. "I extended the same offer to Miss van Dyne because she's the Chief Financial Officer of your company during its heyday, getting contracts to keep your company profitable and in the publics' good graces; both things I'm interested in. As I understand it, Pym Technologies is now Cross Technologies, and according to shareholders' meetings and board minutes, the company hasn't had a profitable quarter in nearly three years due to heavy research and development without a significant gain or model to justify it. I could really use a business manager while I tackle just about every other problem on the planet Earth."

Her two visitors just looked at each other, and then at her.

"You have no idea that I use to work for SHIELD?" Pym asked, a little aggressively, but also a little mystified. Hope seemed just as perplexed.

"Erik and Maria mentioned that you had, and that you ended relations rather non-amicably a couple of decades ago over some proprietary disagreement over something you had created." No, she didn't know much about Doctor Pym working for SHIELD, not allowing herself to dig for secrets. Major Maria Hill was the acting SHIELD Liaison for the Avengers, but purposefully kept the trading of information limited as per Jennifer's instructions so as to not say that one organization controlled the other. Maria wasn't allowed on the Tech Floors, and she only distributed information that Jenn physically requested for with signed affidavits so it could be proven in court that she wasn't trying to spy on people or businesses. "I will mention to you up-front that we are by no means a part of SHIELD or its operations, but a complete and separate organization in our own right. Do we gain intelligence from SHIELD and action upon it if it meets the necessary criteria that we have established? Yes." Jenn wasn't going to ruin a potential relationship by lying or foregoing truths. Obviously the both of them knew of SHIELD already, as Doctor Selvig had mentioned that Henry _had_ worked for them under Howard Stark.

"If they want something from us," the Chief Executive Officer continued, "they know the standards we require; permissible evidence in a court of law, established with a clear line-of-establishment so as to say we weren't acting upon our own accord or were striking out against nations, businesses, or whomever we please at the moment. Any actions we take will be put on the public website for the people to see, along with the evidence that led us to believe why our intervention was necessary. If they fail that, they can always contact the FBI or the American Military for such strikes."

"You're… serious about that." Hope van Dyne said, looking a little shocked. "If you found someone doing an illegal arms trade or something else you thought was warranted, you would literally display the information and evidence that links the use of the Avengers? And distribute it to the public?"

"We're a private organization, not a public office or a clandestine organization, Miss van Dyne." Jennifer replied, knowing that this would be the first of many times she would explain and defend _Avengers, Incorporated_. Honestly, the two of them were a good sounding board; neither seemed to have a good opinion of SHIELD, and a sour history would be a good test for others who didn't like the thought of silent strikes and deniable actions. If she could convince the two people in front of her to at least an amicable consideration, it would prove that she could convince most anyone who were willing to change their minds with enough solid evidence and proof. "Public approval will be a necessity in the years to come, and the best way to do that is to garner the publics' trust. Yes, the public can be easily swayed even on a daily basis, especially with social media, but the difference between what I would like the Avengers to do and what the government does is that we will need their legitimate support not only during our darkest hours, but on a more-or-less everyday basis."

Hope looked as if she had just been slapped, while her father looked thoughtful.

"When I worked for SHIELD," Doctor Pym began, "we fought against Eastern influences. Soviet, mostly." Times had certainly changed since then, and not necessarily for the better. "Almost everything that we did was behind a veil of secrecy. Men and women died…" there was the barest hitch in his voice at that, "defending this country, the West, and the world, never acknowledged, dying in the shadows defending lives." There was something that the older man was obviously ruminating about, something that Jenn had said that had struck a chord with him. "Did Erik tell you about Janet?"

"I know that your wife worked with you, and that she passed away being a hero, his words." Walters replied softly, knowing that this was a touchy subject at best. "Erik is a man I trust, and when he says that someone else, man or woman, is a hero, I believe him." She didn't need to look at Hope to know that she was talking about the woman's mother. "He didn't tell me the story, said it wasn't his place and I respected that. My own father is the Sheriff of San Bernardino County, and I know that there were days he felt the system was in need of a major overhaul, where protecting the law and defending the law could get ugly and messy thanks to a whole slue of factors from both the public and the government. I'm not promising neat answers or a perfect method. What I do want is men and women willing to try, to acknowledge the mistakes they might make, and are willing to stand up for something, in a time of need or even just to admit in a court of law that they had to take action when options were limited. I think…" Jenn let off a sigh as she sat back in her chair, "I think the world could do with a little less shadows and a little more honesty. A hard road, but a worthwhile one."

"So you asked us to be here because you need our help and expertise." The older man surmised.

"Doctor, I'm sitting on the worlds' largest reserve of alien technology with some of the most brilliant minds on the planet trying to find ways to safely harness it to benefit _the world itself_." Jennifer put it in no simple words. "I have a plan, and it is utterly mind-blowing. You will _kick_ yourself for not immediately jumping in on what might be the most risk-taking project that will reap rewards that future generation will enjoy. It will take years if not decades to implement, and it will be totally and completely worth every minute. I will tell you now if you are willing to do a simple video recording version of a Non-Disclosure Agreement in case you wish to part ways."

"Wow. Leave us hanging in suspense." Hope replied, but Jenn could see it in the woman's eyes; her curiosity was most certainly piqued.

"Alright. We can certainly do that." The Doctor replied. Jenn hit a button on her desktop computer that would record the room for meetings, and simply nodded her head. "I, Doctor Henry Jonathan Pym, do agree that anything said, spoke, showed, or discussed between myself and Jennifer Walters, CEO of _Avengers, Incorporated_ on June 5, 2012, will not be discussed outside of her office or place of employment under penalty of law." The man certainly wasn't a stranger to such things, being a former SHIELD employee.

"I, Hope Madeleine van Dyne, do agree that anything said, spoken, showed, or discussed between myself and Jennifer Walters, CEO of _Avengers, Incorporated_ on June 5, 2012, will not be discussed outside of her office or place of employment under penalty of law." His daughter parroted. Jenn nodded as she clicked the button again, signaling JARVIS to end the recording that showed the entire office instead of just the two people in front of her.

"Now that I have your agreement for the day," the lawyer was smiling, "I can give you a tour and show you that I have the means to back what I say. What I intend to do will literally affect the entire world in a beneficiary manner, and it will be pretty apparent once I tell you what I plan to do and how I intend to do it." Jennifer looked at the two people in front of her. "I brought you here specifically for this project, though I am certainly not going to disapprove of any other projects you wish to work upon as well. Doctor, you will easily figure out why I brought you here once I mention it. Hope, your effort will be selling it for the most part.

"And mark my words; it will be a big sell."

"Okay. I'm interested." Doctor Pym replied, Hope nodding as well. She had them right where she wanted them as she smiled.

"I'm going to end the Nuclear Age."

There was ten seconds of dead silence in the CEO's office. All Jenn saw were two sets of wide eyes and hanging jaws.

"You… want to run that by me one more time?" The older man said, his voice a little weak.

"I am going to eliminate the potential disasters that nuclear weapons, power generation, and waste can bring to the planet, Doctor." Jenn reiterated, her tone turning to pure steel, not one ounce of doubt in it as she spoke again.

"_I'm going to end the Nuclear Age."_

* * *

"Welcome to the most advanced scientific lab in the entire solar system."

Hope Madeleine van Dyne walked through the vault-like doors after having her palm print read, her optical signature scanned, and a voice print recorded (for legal purposes, evidently) along with both her father and their hose as the steel alloy doors opened to reveal a four story-tall laboratory that was undoubtedly the most advanced one she had ever seen, and that was certainly saying something since she worked for both Pym Technologies and Cross Technologies; both high-level scientific research and development endeavors.

That was because this lab had arc reactors, Chitauri Technology, signs of more-advanced Iron Man suits in the works, a few indications of other equipment and items that would likely be for use by the Avengers, and surprisingly enough, a floating blue cube locked in a thick ceramiglas tube that looked as if it could withstand a missile attack. Then there were the computers and servers that were obviously the brainchild of Tony Stark, more advanced than anything she had ever seen. Again, that was saying something.

_God, I just died and went to physicist heaven!_, Hope thought to herself as she couldn't stop staring and staring and staring…

"Now the security measures here are some of the most strict upon the planet," Jennifer Walters, CEO of _the fucking Avengers_ and a woman that actually proved Thor to be a God in a courtroom spoke as she walked slightly ahead, fully-immersed in presentation mode, "both in proprietary security as well as legal oversight. No one enters without having their identity confirmed through four different means that are admissible in a court of law or a congressional sub-committee," the Cross Technologies' Board Member saw what Jennifer was doing there, "and any and all work here is shared upon the same server. The server itself is a Stand-Alone Complex separate from the Penthouse, but there is no encryption on the server itself."

"No secrets, no off-the-books research and development." Her father mused out loud, his tone grudgingly approving. "If someone passes the physical security here, anyone in the lab can see what the other is doing as ethical oversight."

"Exactly." Walters turned and walked backwards down the obvious pathway between what appeared to be several manufacturing components to create more miniaturized arc reactors and a machine on the opposite side that looked to be involved in chemical analysis and some sort of fabrication of synthetic material that Hope wondered might be a new form of tactical suit. That would be something she might be interested in in conjunction with the Ant-Man suit or the Wasp suit. So far, they hadn't said a word about what the Pym Particle could do. If Jennifer could land _half_ of what she claimed…

…_oh God, what is _that_?_

"I see you found our telltale heart, Miss van Dyne." The lawyer said as Hope looked at something that was a story up and taking up a good deal of space, suspended by cables and connected by dozens of electrical conduits. She wasn't even sure how to describe what it was save that it was obviously not of this Earth. ChiTech, but…

"That is the heart of a Leviathan."

"My God…" Dad said in awe as they both looked up at the object, almost the size of a small fast-food franchise building. "The literal heart or its power core?"

"Actually, both." The woman replied, Hope tearing her eyes away. "We're still trying to figure out if they started of as cybernetic beings or if they were altered by an outside agent, but there are some biological components in the heart to regulate its power output, its cycles, and surprisingly its distribution of waste management." Wait, that would mean…

"No outside assistance for regulation or oversight." Her father spoke out loud before she could. "No need for someone to watch over it… or tamper with it."

"Yes." Walters answered. "When the wormhole was closed thanks to Natasha Romanoff, all the Chitauri were essentially put into a shutdown state, rendered off." The woman turned to continue the demonstration, walking deeper into the lab. "We found smaller pieces of ChiTech and were able to turn them back on with ease, separating them from their components and turning on the personal power cores of the Chitauri commandos after we ascertain their safety and building safeguards before flicking them back on." It sounded as if everyone was taking the alien technology seriously. Good. "The smaller power cores, which were the foot soldiers' hearts," the CEO continued, "were turned on and found to be nearly self-sustaining, and able to deliver up to five megawatts of energy over a standard day. That's over six _thousand_ horsepower in an object about the size of a chicken egg." Jennifer pointed out a small egg-like object that glowed an indigo color. "Just one of these will run an electric car for a week without recharge, and they recycle their own reserves when inactive."

"How is that even possible?" Hope asked, knowing enough of the electrodynamic theory and thermodynamic theory to know that broke some very important laws. "Is it perpetual motion?"

"The power core itself is not, but the recharging device _is_." That had father and daughter look at each other in amazement; no one had cracked _that_ Holy of Holys. Perpetual motion would literally solve any future energy crisis the world would ever have. "That endeavor will be used to hopefully synthesize more power cores and recharging devices to shy the worlds' need for fossil fuels," Hope felt her jaw drop on that, "and hopefully by the end of the decade we can start introducing electric vehicles that can be driven at an almost unlimited range with only a few hours or so of off-time a day to recharge."

"My God…" Her father shook his head in disbelief. "No fossil fuels itself would certainly be a worthwhile endeavor. But that doesn't remove the Nuclear Age, Miss Walters."

"And in that, you are correct." The lawyer replied as she continued walking slowly. "The Leviathan's heart is of significant proportion in size and ability compared to what the general Chitauri commando had, Doctor. Just a single soldier could power a house for a day easily, and nighttime periods allowing lower output for increases in its capacitance. But the heart of the Leviathan is capable of so much more, and that," Jennifer stopped and turned to face them, "is our _pièce de résistance_, so to speak."

"What's its power output?" Hope asked, figuring that the question she just asked would be the reason Jennifer seemed so dead-set on the thought of a Nuclear-Free world.

"Two hundred and fifty teraWattz." The Esquire answered with a smile. "Thirty times more powerful than the most powerful nuclear reactor in the world.

"And we have twenty-four hearts."

Hope… was shocked speechless.

"Imagine a Nuclear-free era with no more blackouts or brownouts," the lawyer said as she led them deeper into the lab, "where the world no longer needs to burn coal or oil to power its cities and homes. Safe, clean, renewable, environmentally-friendly, no need to dump harmful wastes into barrels to erode and pollute, no more need to enrich plutonium or uranium and worry about nuclear weapons programs with nations with little to no responsibility or accountability, no more accidents or near misses, the end of the threat of nuclear war and retaliation." The woman slowed down and turned to face them.

"We can end the threat of destroying ourselves once and for all based upon the whims of stupid politics and ideologies."

Hope looked at her father, who was looking at her. _Could it be possible?,_ she wanted to ask out loud, that fear that the both of them had lived with the entirety of their lives… that threat that had ended Janet van Dyne's life. Jennifer Walters likely didn't know what had killed her mother; to disarm a Soviet Intercontinental Ballistic Missile with a Multiple Independently-Targetable Re-Entry Vehicle carrying five nuclear warheads, Janet van Dyne had went sub-atomic to save the City of Los Angeles, hundreds of thousands if not _millions_ of lives saved at the cost of one woman.

Yet that cost had broken her fathers' heart.

When Jenn had declared that she would end the Nuclear Age, Hope had no doubt that her father relived that terrible, terrible day. He had come home a broken man, explaining to his eight-year old daughter why her mother would never be coming home again. He had quit SHIELD, became more reclusive, more devoted to burying himself to his work. The relationship between father and daughter had eventually soured, her father stubbornly refusing to admit any of his faults or flaws as he was eventually voted out of his own company… with her vote being the deciding factor. Oh, business-wise it was the correct thing to do, but…

…but on that day she had finally finished what that terrible day started and broke her fathers' heart completely.

Last year, everything changed when Darren Cross, CEO of Cross Technologies, began getting investors that Hope _couldn't_ find on the internet or prove where their money was coming from, the kind of investors that were more interested in technology that would fuel wars at scales no one dared dreamed about. That was when she realized _why_ her father had been so insistent in never sharing the secrets of his technology; he had been protecting the world from idiots more interested in making a killing… figuratively and literally.

Yet standing in front of them was a woman who could be said to be sitting on the largest technological gold mine with the most brilliant minds to harness it, and she had no intention of weaponizing it despite the events almost a month prior. Oh, there would likely be some, but Jennifer Walters had the look of a woman who was going to be completely and utterly responsible for whatever came out of this lab, intending to build something beneficial for the good of the world instead of another bigger, better bomb.

"Dad?" Hope looked at her father, doing her best to convey her thoughts on the matter as if she were a telepath.

_If this even has a small fraction of a dream of a _chance_ at success…_ to take away nuclear weapons? To stop the increase of nuclear waste? To rid the world of the fear of nuclear war, what the world had been so close to doing several _acknowledged_ times and a couple that her father had told her abut that weren't public knowledge? To end the worry of the possibility of nuclear meltdowns and catastrophes like Chernobyl and Fukushima Daiichi? Even working _towards_ that goal…

Hope looked to her father, and she saw something in his eyes that she hadn't seen in years; that spark, that wonder.

Hope; he had hope in his eyes. For the woman he loved, lost to nuclear proliferation and arrogance, she _knew_ her father would spend the rest of his life working towards this dream.

"We're in." Hope van Dyne replied, already crafting the termination letter that Darren would be getting in the next twenty-four hours in her head.

* * *

The time had come to say goodbye to one of their own.

The Avengers and several other members of _Avengers, Incorporated_ stood on the helipad of Stark Tower as Thor Odinson stood upon the high-rise landing pad with his half-brother in chains, Loki Wolfsblood bound hand, foot, and mouth under the watch of no less than four highly-armed SHIELD Agents in full tactical gear as well as the Avengers themselves (minus the Hulk, Doctor Bruce Banner present irregardless). The several additional people who were there were present so that Jennifer Walters could have witnesses say that Loki was no longer on Earth if some terrorist group or government demand to hand the Son of Laufrey over, as well as video evidence thanks to JARVIS. In a few minutes, everyone on Earth could breath a little easier as the God of Mischief went to his incarceration on Asgard.

Goodbyes and farewells were said amongst the people upon the helipad, handshakes and hugs given appropriately depending on the gender as more than a few of the civilians kept a wary eye on Laufreyson, despite how manacled he was. Despite his short stint on Earth, Thor had made friends and colleagues on Midgard, and each person received some words of encouragement from the Crown Prince of Asgard. Doctor Jane Foster looked ready to bawl, but was thankfully keeping it together for the time being. Later on, she would undoubtedly be a bag of tears.

"Lady Jennifer." The blond-haired God stood in front of her with a smile, a large hand going onto her left shoulder in the form of an ancient greeting that hadn't been practiced on Earth in centuries. "It has been an honor to have met you, an honor that I hope shall be rekindled in the future." He reached into one of his pouches of his belt and pulled out, of all things, a small necklace that contained a small hammer for a medallion. "To this, I bless upon you a boon. If Earth shall ever fall to the shadows of otherworldly threats, take this medallion and hold it up to the air and beseech Heimdallr for aid, and I shall come. This I bequeath to you, my friend." He placed it in Jenn's hand, clasping her fingers around it before giving her fingers a kiss, making the lawyer fight off the need to sigh romantically at the gesture. Thor made his way towards his manacled half-brother where a box had been crafted by Tony Stark and Doctor Bruce Banner to safely use the powers of the Tesseract based off of Thor's explanations to send the God of Thunder and his asshole half-brother home. The Tesseract would be safely secured in Odin Allfather's Vault of Dangerous Shit (as Clint called it), Loki would be locked up in a prison that could safely secure him, and Thor would investigate who had sent the Chitauri and Loki to Earth, to discover the true purpose of the invasion.

Thor grabbed a handle of the Tesseract Box, pushed the other side into Loki's secured hand, gave them all a nod of farewell, and activated the cube.

The Gods disappeared into a pillar of blinding light with swirling prismatic, almost rainbow-like colors in its midst before disappearing five seconds later to leave people blinking away the aftereffect in their eyes.

On the pad where they stood was a rather large chest that hadn't been there a moment before.

"Did Asgard just express deliver us a present?" Tony Stark asked in general, taking off his tinted Wayfarer sunglasses, looking at the chest that was about the size of a truckle box. Jenn saw that it was rather ornamental, with polished wood, metal connectors and rivets on its edges that weren't of iron or steel, and a great deal of scroll work upon its surface. It practically looked like the upgraded version of the mythical pirate's treasure box.

"Hey, there's a note on top!" Darcy Lewis pointed out as she moved to the box and pulled at a piece of parchment that was sitting on top of the ornamental lid, unscrolling it to read it. "Wow, fancy handwriting. Like, maximum calligraphy skills."

"What does it say?" Captain Steve Rogers asked, a little curious.

"_To the Lady Jennifer Walters, daughter of Morris,"_ the political science student began to read, her face scrunching up with effort to decipher the flowing text, _"for defending my son's name and honor I… bequeath…? Bequeath to you this token from my personal treasury to aid you in your endeavors in the defense of the Realm of Midgard."_

Darcy's eyes went wide as she looked up to the group.

"Signed Odin Allfather."

"Well, what's in the chest?" Clint Barton asked, everyone looking at the wooden box as the college student unlatched the lid and opened it for a peak.

It immediately closed with a snap as Darcy looked to the group with eyes wider than Jenn had ever seen, the woman's face going pale as she opened the lid again with a trembling hand to reveal to everyone what had shocked her.

Inside the chest, everyone knew without a doubt, was filled with perfectly cut, without a doubt flawless, twenty-four karat diamonds around the size of a marble.

* * *

Author's Note: Most allude or assume the the Red Room might have been something similar to _Project: Rebirth_; the attempt to make super soldiers. There are several instances of characters that have something like this, including Bucky Barnes, Isaiah Bradley, Emil Blonsky (in _The Incredible Hulk_), Doctor Bruce Banner (in _The Avengers_), the four science experiments in the HYDRA lab (in _Civil War_), and of course Johann Schmitt/_Rot Shroder_/Red Skull. Natasha might have had a small but usable portion from whatever extraction process the Soviets were able to glean, and might have even been a test program for their own version of Captain America; the Winter Soldier. Chances are, I might run with that idea.

Jenn mentions that Doctor Pym and Miss van Dyne's contributions were of no small effort, but then she doesn't know of the Pym Particle, Ant-Man, or the Wasp. She knows that Pym Technologies are the leading manufacturer of nanotechnology (it will be limited), as well as molecular engineering, so 'small' endeavors that have large implications. Maria Hill knows something of their past, and likely concluded that keeping Jenn in the dark would be of benefit; she honestly doesn't know so Doctor Pym would be more amicable towards working for the Avengers if he felt SHIELD didn't just feed them everything and looked like a puppet.

Perpetual Motion - Provable on paper but not so much in the real world, the basic premise is that 100% input will equal 100% constant output for continual (if not necessarily abundant) energy. This breaks a few scientific laws, especially Newton's First Law (object in motion) and the Second Law of Thermodynamics (entropy systems involving waste heat as resistance). Anyone cracks this engineering marvel will be richer than Amazon. That isn't an exaggeration.

I don't think anyone in FF has ever really used the thought of ChiTech as something beneficial, such as the heart of a Leviathan as a power source. Nothing says that they are/are not powered by electricity, but at least some of what they had did use advanced power sources (see _Spider-Man: Homecoming_). I assume that the Leviathan, like our own vessels, vehicles, and aircraft, would need a massive power generator to make them fly, as they were the Chitauri version of an aircraft carrier. The ChiChariot might be the next endeavor… the HOVERBOARD!

But yes, Jennifer plans to end the threat of nuclear annihilation, disasters, meltdowns, waste, weapons, and proliferation. No small effort, there.

Hope van Dyne originally reconnects with her father when she discovers what Darren Cross is doing and whom he has investments with (the Ten Rings and HYDRA). Right not, that hasn't quite happened yet, but she is concerned, and has gone to her father before Jenn gives them a call. While I don't plan on doing the _Ant-Man_ movie with this, it will happen as a background reference. Where would we be without The Ant Who Lived?

Remember that medallion, true believers; you will be seeing it in my version of Captain America: Winter Soldier.

Now it's time to go recruiting! Avengers!… go get me the instruction manual so I know where the pieces fit.


	12. Some Assembly Required, II

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, June 8, 2012**

_+5 Day After Jenn Outs Her Job To The World_

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., CEO of the Avengers, was looking at, of all things, a website pertaining to a semi-local science fair.

As the Chief Executive Officer of _Avengers, Incorporated_ as well as _The Avengers Foundation_, it was her job to keep operations running. It was a myriad task that involved public trust, bringing out products for distribution, running in a proper manner, and being accountable to business practices; the same as any business. As a Non-Profit Organization, the business aspect was to garner donations and funding through various efforts that were completely accountable and liable through law in accordance to the Non-Profit Organization business and tax laws. Most thought that being an NPO meant that a trust, organization, or charter _couldn't_ make a profit, which wasn't true. It simply meant that its salaried employees couldn't receive bonuses, that the donations were held accountable, and the extra money had to be invested either into the organization itself (such as equipment), turn into charitable funds, be used in a public purpose, but certainly not for benefit for anyone associated with organizing or running said business.

Thus, _The Avengers Foundation_; the private foundation whose grants and contributions would fund _Avengers, Incorporated_ for years to come. Along with other endeavors for public trust, charity endeavors, and preparing for the possibility of a _very_ dark future.

As the CEO, Jennifer had a great deal of responsibilities in which she was currently looking for personnel to answer those needs. With the inclusion of Doctor Henry Jonathan 'Hank' Pym and his daughter, Hope van Dyne, she was including another cutting-edge physicist to her pool of intellectuals as well as a woman quite note-worthy for her business acumen. Hope had already delivered her two-week notice to Cross Technologies and had turned down the offer of a significant pay increase when she cited her reasons of a slump of quarterly reports three years running. That told Jenn that the woman was joining in not for the money (though the salary that Hope would be getting was quite competitive) but for a cause. That pleased her to no end. She was looking into the more business-like aspects of personnel, including financial, public relations, information technology, and political aspects in which Darcy Lewis had already agreed to sign on.

One of the potential hires she had already contacted was Lieutenant Commander Nathaniel James Dugan, the grandson of Timothy 'Dum-Dum' Dugan and a Navy SEAL. His involvement wouldn't be business in nature, but in line with joining the team known throughout the world as the Avengers. While only a select few entered what was officially known as the Basic Underwater Demolition School (BUD/s for short, and generally known as the SEAL School), Navy Special Forces personnel numbered in the high one-hundreds easily, and finding one that might fit the criteria wouldn't be difficult. Yet Commander Nate Dugan held a distinction; he had earned both a Silver Star and a Bronze Star with Valor Device during his five tours overseas in the War on Terror. His name had gotten him a look. His credentials gotten him an interview.

Colonel James Rupert Rhodes, known affectionately as 'Rhodey' by both Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, was known throughout the world as 'the War Machine'. Responsible for helping Tony defeat an incursion of attacking drones at the Flushing Meadows Incident of the Stark Expo as well as a series of strikes throughout the world against the threat of the terrorist group known as the Ten Rings Organization, Colonel Rhodes was an easy in. An Air Force test pilot with both a degree from the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs and an Aerospace Engineering Degree from MIT (where James and Tony had met initially), Rhodes was an easy addition. Yes, he was still serving in the United States Air Force and including him on the roster would mean he would have to retire (something he probably wouldn't do). Jennifer would look for a work-around where James could be put on a reserve status when the chips were down.

There was another she had been looking at, a 1st Lieutenant Samuel Thomas 'Sam' Wilson, an Air Force Search and Rescue Pararescueman. Another one of America's elite military personnel generally called Special Forces, what made Lieutenant Wilson different from the rest of his SAR brethren was that he was a test pilot for a device made by Stark Industries known as the 'Fully Aerodynamic Light Conventional Operations Node'; a confusing name to disguise the intent and purpose of what was known as the Stark Industries' Mk. I FALCON Device. It was a pilot-without-a-plane device meant to rescue men in hostile situations with a solo operative or in tandem teams to 'swoop' in with retractable wing-like telescopic devices and a small repulsor thruster to be able to fly or glide in and get a downed man out of harms' way. The Lieutenant in question had opted out of the military a month or so prior following the death of his partner and wingman, 1st Lieutenant Michael Reilly, and Jenn saw the same thing she saw when her father last his best friend on the force; a man having trouble getting back on that horse, so to speak. He would get a tentative offer without being pushed, and Jenn would see to it that an American hero would get the help he needed even if he declined the opportunity to join.

But currently, she was looking into another member that would be an operational support staff that certainly had her intrigued.

The Tri-State Area Science Competition had occurred a week ago, and a student at the Coles Academic High School had crushed the competition with an invention based upon what was known as the 'Freeform Light Holographic Projection Drone'. Jenn had queried for up-and-coming experiments and ideas through universities and colleges for fresh talent, and had gotten a _fifteen-year old_ as a result. The lawyer was about to dismiss the possibility due to age but decided to look up the YouTube video that recorded the competition.

The Esquire completely and utterly changed her mind about not hiring a kid when said teenager invented something that had _Tony Stark_ stumped and a little envious.

A teenage girl in New Jersey was about to get the offer of a lifetime.

* * *

**Khan Family Residence, 714 Grove Street, Jersey City, New Jersey, June 8, 2012**

The doorbell rang at the front door, and a pair of slippered feet pattered down the staircase as a young Pakistani-American woman rushed to get the door.

"I got it, _Ammi_!" The young feminine voice shouted out as the fifteen-year old young woman rushed down the stairs to get the front door, expecting her friend Bruno Carrelli to show up at any moment. Bruno had said that he was going to Roy's Comics and Games to see the new _Avengers_ official merchandise that had just come out, official shirts and memorabilia where half of the proceeds were to go to the reconstruction of Midtown after the Battle of New York almost a month prior. Like most kids her age, the alien attack, while scary, had introduced them to the wonder of wonders; actual living _superheroes_! _Aliens and superheroes!_ Yes, scary. Yes, people did die and that was sad. But her generation was now on the social warpath of eating anything and everything up _Avenger_-related.

She already had the entire trial of _Thor vs. Norway_ saved on her computer. All six hours of it.

So when she opened the front door expecting her best friend Bruno Carrelli to be standing on the side of it with some sweet merch but instead found a well-groomed man in a stylish-looking suit with his hands in his pants pockets, wearing semi-tinted designer sunglasses standing next to a woman in a black professional business suit, holding a clutch purse and an advanced-looking tablet in her hands, taller than the man she was standing next to, the young woman's eyes almost popped out of her head as she recognized _both of them_ from both television and YouTube immediately.

A multi-billionaire industrialist along with the CEO of the _Avengers_ were literally standing on her doorstep!

"Miss Kamala Khan?" The woman, Jennifer Walters, asked while looking at her. _Oh… my… _

Much to her eternal shame, Kamala Aisha Khan did the most appropriate thing possible; she squeaked like the fangirl she was, and promptly swooned on the spot.

"I get that a lot." Tony Stark said casually before Kamala passed out in front of the front door and went to her happy spot, the fangirl in her dying and going to heaven.

* * *

The young woman in question was woken up a minute later by her mother, Muneeba Khan, who had gone to the front door to see what all the commotion was about. She, like her daughter, recognized Tony Stark and Jennifer Walters on her front doorstep, and then saw her daughters' smiling form laid out on the floor. The Pakistani woman wasn't to be caught off-guard as she went to her daughter, poked her back awake, and apologized to the guests at her front door before inviting them in. Jennifer Walters saw the young woman get up, blush at her actions, but then superseded by a growing goofy grin over her dusky face.

Someone was in hog heaven.

"Miss Khan? I'm Jennifer Walters, CEO of _Avengers, Incorporated_ and _The Avengers Foundation_," Jenn reached a hand out to shake with Muneeba Khan, "and this is Tony Stark." The woman has shaking her hand, but there was no doubting that the Pakistani woman knew _exactly_ who they were. "Is there a place we can talk? Nobody is in trouble, if that is a concern."

"_Abbu! Abbu!_ Come see who's at our house!" Kamala shouted, still all excitement. Walters had politely decided not to bring the translator that Tony Stark had invented for her for the trial in Norway, wishing to respect the Khan family's privacy if they wished to speak Pakistani Urdu amongst themselves without being understood. She knew that this would be a very interesting day for them, and both she and Tony had come prepared to sell their idea. Already the _Foundation_ had in works an internship for the summer for any potential youth attendees, as well as scholarships for academics, scientific endeavors, and technological creativity. It was a nice way of saying _Avenger School_ without saying _Avenger School_. It would buy them a few months to see if they could actually set up a private education facility that would be just that; future members that would be educated and nurtured towards advancements for the day they could be hired as a staff member, a support member, or even possibly a team member. An older portly man came to the front of the family house and Jenn could tell that he at least recognized Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark on sight and when his eyes went to her, likely concluded who she was as well.

"Welcome to our home, but…" Yusif Khan looked at a lost for words. When a multi-billionaire and the reported nominal leader of the only known superhero team on the planet showed up to ones' home, being a little tongue-tied was to be expected. "Is there a problem?" That was an expected question. Eleven years after September Eleventh meant that _most_ of the animosity towards Muslims had died out. Mostly.

"Quite the opposite, Mister Khan." Jennifer reassured him with a knowing smile. "If we could take this to your living room? There are some things we would like to tell you and show you that are both positive and promising for young Miss Kamala here.

"And you might want to be sitting down for it."

Both mother and father look to their daughter, who was grinning ear-to-ear at such illustrious company, probably too ecstatic to think of the reason why such august company had arrived.

Everyone made their way to the living room, the mother offering refreshments to the guests beforehand (both Jennifer and Tony politely declined) taking to available seats. Both Mister and Misses Khan took to a small couch on one side of the living room decorated in a style that was both colorful and quite obviously ethnically Pakistani, while she and Tony took to another small couch on the opposite side of a coffee table. Kamala was on a separate loveseat, still looking as if she had won the lottery. She had no idea yet how right she was.

"So, what is this about?" Yusif asked, his voice accented. Jennifer knew from his records that he had been born in Pakistan but moved to America legally right before Kamala had been born. He was a senior loan officer at a local branch of Bank of America, supporting his wife, his son, and his daughter. The house was a well-to-do one in a good neighborhood and thus spoke of the man's responsibilities to his family.

"Mister Khan…" Jennifer began.

"Yusif." The man allowed, politely interrupting.

"Yusif," the lawyer nodded, "we're here today because of the results of the Tri-State Area Science Competition last weekend where your daughter practically ran intellectual and scientific loops around her fellow competitors." That had both parents sit up a little. Every parent was proud of their child, and certainly didn't mind hearing praise about their childrens' accomplishments. But she could tell in their eyes that dots were connecting. Their daughter had gotten first place in a science fair… and now there were two Avengers in their homes in normal clothes with what sounded to be an offer.

"I've been working on holographic technology for about seven years now, making light-emitting displays and Haptic gesture-recognition software," Tony picked up, explaining a little of the high-tech terms that the common public probably wasn't even aware of, "and Jenn here showed me what your daughter invented and won the Tri-State with. I watched that video ten times," the inventor continued, "and tried to fabricate what she did.

"I couldn't do it." Tony admitted, his hands saying it all. "I'm not easily impressed. But I'm impressed."

"And jealous." Walters coined in.

"And jealous." The billionaire admitted easily. Tony was the kind of man whose mind ceaselessly went _I can do better_. If he found he couldn't? Tony immediately respected the person for having stumped him.

"And thus why we're here." Jennifer continued, keeping to the script and leaving the parents just a little bit reeling. They were about to entice the parents of a fifteen-year old girl with something rather radical, and she wanted to impress. "Mister and Misses Khan?

"We would love to offer your daughter a chance for a paid internship at the tech labs at Stark Tower with full proprietary rights and ownership to anything she crafts, creates, designs and invents while she is there for the summer."

The Khans looked at Jennifer with dropped jaws. Kamala was the first to recover from her shock as she squealed, her hands shaking by her face in joy.

"Hold on, Miss Kamala." The Esquire said with a smile, though she was certainly pleased with the reaction. She only had to think of her own daughters to know what this would mean to someone of her generation, remembering Elizabeth 'Libby' Drews' reaction to just meeting the Avenger. This young woman was getting an opportunity to interning at _Stark Tower_ for the summer. "There will be stipulations and agreements that will be necessary that I need to mesh with your parents, not to mention that I will need their approval beforehand. As a mother myself, I know my big one will be continuing education both for the summer and in the future if you wish for this to be longer than just one summer." The parents still looked stunned. That wasn't unexpected. "I assume that your parents know what you made, right?" Jennifer had a rather nasty suspicion what the 'Freeform Light Holographic Projection Drone' was for; teenage Pakistani-American young woman with what appeared to be traditionalist conservative _Muslim_ parents who probably wouldn't quite understand or relate a young woman wishing to explore the world on her own terms. Thank God her kids hadn't ended up young genius inventors.

"Why don't you bring down the _Miss Marvel Project_ and show off?" Jennifer Walters said with a smile.

"_I'll bring it down right now!"_ The young woman exclaimed, practically defying gravity as she bound out of the love seat and rocketed straight towards the staircase that no doubt led to her room upstairs. Jenn shared a smile with Tony, who looked rather bemused at the whole thing. His idea of a young woman was someone in the early to mid-twenties in a cocktail dress.

"You do know what she made, right?" The lawyer asked Kamala's parents now that the young woman was gathering her things, the real conversation being able to take place. "An illusion machine impossible to tell the difference between fact and fiction?"

"I saw her make her drone turn into a small dog." Muneeba said, nodding.

"They weren't at the competition." Tony noted, thumbing his goatee thoughtfully. "This thing will be the bane of parents everywhere." Both Yusif and Muneeba looked at the billionaire curiously.

"Mister and Misses Khan? Your daughter _replicated_ herself in front of hundreds of people and the Tri-State Area Science Competition judges." Jenn explained, looking at the man and woman who were now beginning to understand what a 'Freeform Light Holographic Projection Drone' was. "She played pattycake with herself, ate cereal while the drone mimic herself holding a book reading, and then had people tried to guess which one was the real Kamala. The fact that it was less than fifty percent who guessed right meant she can replicate a person and their movements with a light projection indistinguishable from the real thing to a person, decoying a man or woman's location by making someone else might appear… in their room?" The parents were now looking at each other in horror. Their fifteen-year old daughter had created something that could fool the eye (and thus the mind) into thinking that an individual was at a location that they weren't. And it was now dawning on them that they could easily be the targets. "I have three teenage girls myself, one in Berkeley, one looking at Law School, and one looking at _boys_." That had Tony snort as he shook his head knowingly. "Guess where I rank family at?"

"High priority." Yusif answered, looking at her right in the eye. Yes, he might had been fooled by technology, but this wasn't a man easily fooled. He knew that America wasn't Pakistan, and was doing his best to make most of a situation where tradition and the modern era really didn't fit all that well together. She felt for him, she really did.

"The highest." Jenn nodded. "I want her to show off a little, but also let you see what she is capable of now." Yes, they were getting the reason for that now; she was giving them a boon that might have hoodwinked them before, a point in her favor. "But your daughter can save tens of thousands of lives easily, Mister and Misses Khan. And that's the low-ball guess if it's only half as capable as we think it might be."

"Save lives how?" Muneeba asked curiously. Yes, the parents were Pakistani-born, and that nation certainly had its issues, like any other. They just took on different names in different borders.

"The big one? If we had this technology a month ago?" Jenn referred to the Battle of New York, Yusif and Muneeba Khan's eyes went a little wide. "We could have used these drones to disguise the civilians, invent ghost targets for the Chitauri to focus their fire on something else that didn't exist, make the street look empty, or make it look like it was filled with Abrams tanks. We can literally change war into an ineffective proposition throughout _the world_ by making enemy soldiers not even sure if the enemy is in front of them, outnumbers them three-to-one, help hide refugees and people fleeing conflicts… we can make war _too expensive_ to fight if no one can justify the expenses of a shooting war where no one gets hit or killed, forcing nations back to the negotiation table and resolving things in ways that don't involve bullets and bombs. Not a perfect solution, but a worthwhile one. Ah, I think she's coming back down." Jenn held a silencing finger to her lips before putting her hand down when Kamala Khan came back down holding what appeared to be a store-bought electric hover drone with four small aerofoils for flight capabilities, and an Apple iBook laptop.

"Give me a minute!" The young Pakistani-American woman exclaimed as she set the drone on the carpet of the living room floor as she set the laptop on top of the coffee table before plopping herself onto the loveseat, completely intent on what she was doing with a mile-wide grin. Jenn wasn't so sure on her guess about the decoy for her parents now; the girl would have resisted the idea to show off something that was obviously meant to be a look-alike… "Okay, system's booting up, give me a minute…" There was the telltale tone of an Apple OS booting up from the white iBook as her fingers began clattering on the keyboard. "Alright, Miss Marvel. Let's do your thing." Kamala hit a key.

The drone sitting on the floor began to hover upwards thanks to the four aerofoils, going up several feet as several strobing lights flickered for a few seconds… and a person stood in its place.

Iron Man. Of course.

Jennifer Walters found herself looking at a _life-life, actual-size_ Iron Man replica, right down to the details of the hot rod red paint on the gold-titanium alloy body, completely with minor burrs, buffs, and even a couple of dings on the chassis. The eyes glowed a luminous white exactly like the Mk. VII and all previous editions had, appearing as if _the Iron Man_ had visited the house in question. What was more? It _moved!_ Jenn found herself watching in amazement as the Life Model Decoy (what Kamala called it in the Tri-State Area Science Competition) put its armored fists to its armored hips and proceeded to turn its armored head slightly one side and tilted it back _just_ enough to strike that perfect superhero pose made so popular by the DC Comic character Superman. And then…

"_I find that the best battlefield strategy is to have more bullets than the other guy."_

Jenn had to bite back at a chuckle at that. The voice was pure Tony Stark, likely chopped and edited from a plethora of video clips. But that quote?

"Renegade Shepard?" Walters had to ask, making the young woman look at her in shock. That was a character from a trilogy of console games called _Mass Effect_ that her two youngest kids had gotten from her back in March. Her youngest surrogate daughter, Elizabeth 'Libby' Drew, thought Commander Shepard was a badass. God knew that with an actual alien invasion tucked under Earths' belt, games featuring human beings beating alien ass would be all the rage for the next few years. She vaguely recalled the old Atari game _Missile Command_ being rumored as a proxy training exercise for kids in case something like the real thing happened with Soviet missiles armed with MIRVs.

"Oh my God! You play _Mass Effect_?" The young woman was practically ready to gush, perhaps forgetting that thirty-two year old lawyers were generally off fighting legal cases, and at least one of them was off saving the world, so to speak.

"You should see my graphics mods." Tony jumped in smoothly, the tech genius speaking to the young tech genius in pure digital vanilla. "First thing I did with my X-Box was revamped the graphics card, jailbreak'ed the code, and started writing my own mods and hacks. Literally wrote an unbeatable level that makes the HAMMER mission look like a DOOM clone parody." Jenn just looked at Yusif and Muneeba, who just looked at her, every word clearly sailing over their heads.

"Can you show us the one from the Competition?" Jenn interjected before the gamers got really into it. She watched her kids talk about games for _hours_. It was fun listening to them, but evidently her questions were answered with the tag _noob_ (whatever that meant).

"Yep!" The young woman wasn't at all concerned showing off her holographic body-double as her fingers went back to the keyboard of the iBook, typed in a few line commands, and the image of Iron Man disappeared and turned into a smaller, lither frame of Kamala Khan, wearing (of all things) a blue t-shirt with a yellow lightning bolt going down the middle of it. It almost reminded her of the Flash save that the Justice League character wore red. "This is my Life Model Decoy. I've programmed her with a series of movements, responses, and even limited interaction based upon likely answers to questions. I… might have stolen the idea of Suri."

This wasn't the act of a teenager trying to get a few free hours out of the house to let her hair down, so to speak, Jenn thought with a frown.

"Limited AI?" Stark asked, already smiling.

"Limited predictable analysis based on question and queries, as well as a wi-fi connection for internet hits for relevant data." The young woman replied, her tone rather pleased with the praise she was getting. "I used the Dragon Language Program for text-to-audio and went over that sentence that has all the letters in the alphabet several times before it could mimic my voice to fool a person. A computer and maybe an expert can tell, but someone else?" Kamala shook her head. "Care to try?"

"Okay, I'll bite." Walters smiled, already knowing her question as she looked to the holographic image of Kamala Khan standing in a rather benign stance, no real fidgeting that would suggest a real person, but otherwise flawless. "Who's the name of young, popular, blond, and pretty that has you walking the street as a distraction?"

Kamala Khan froze in her loveseat as she looked up from her laptop. _Damn it, _Jenn thought to herself as she saw the wide, dark eyes look at her and then to her parents, ashamed. The girl had been all too happy to show off to her parents, too, meaning that _Miss Marvel_ hadn't been created to fool the parents. That meant something else; a bully.

"_Zoe Zimmer."_ The _Miss Marvel_ Life Model Decoy Freeform Holographic Image replied in a facsimile voice that was impossible to tell from the real thing with the human ear alone, the mouth moving with the words. Jenn already knew the story before it had to be explained to her. _Young, popular, blond, and pretty_ probably didn't have a redeemable quality about her, so she made up for it by walking all over the young, dark-skinned, smart-as-hell Muslim girl. Kamala had created the _Miss Marvel Project_ likely as a decoy to thwart bullies, or at least as an escape plan.

Interestingly enough, Jennifer had the same idea in mind but on a much larger scale.

"Do you prank them?" The billionaire asked, sounding a little amused as Kamala worked out of her shame (no one liked admitting to their weaknesses, especially in front of their parents), a shy smile appearing on the Pakistani-American girl's lips.

"I made them chase my LMD into an alleyway when I hit them with _this_." The young woman said as she hit in another command and the solid-looking image of Kamala disappeared for a second before it turned into a six-foot tall man wearing all black; black helmet, black facemask, black battlearmor and life-support system, and a billowing black cape draping from his shoulders.

Jennifer Walters found herself looking at an exact replica of _Darth Vader_. And then the telltale breathing sound came, _hwurk-haaaah_.

"_You underestimate the power of the Dark Side!"_ The LMD raised an imperial fist as James Earl Jones spoke in pure brass tones. _"Join me, and together we can rule this galaxy as father and son!"_ The lawyer was laughing and applauding at the same time, seeing Lord Vader in the flesh (so to speak) for the first time outside of a movie or television screen as Tony looked to have split his face wide open with a grin. Oh, someone was going to have some fun with the Freeform Light Holographic Projection Drone. Even Kamala's parents were pretty riveted by the performance of the _Miss Marvel Project_. Jenn was still chucking and clapping her hands as Kamala blushed at the attention.

"Miss Walters," Yusif Khan spoke after the demonstration, his tone a little hesitant as he looked to his wife, and then to the lawyer, "would you mind if we discussed some things for a moment while our daughter keeps you company?"

"Of course, Yusif." The lawyer nodded with a smile as she watched Yusif and Muneeba get off of the couch that they had been sharing and slip towards the back of the house somewhere, likely the kitchen as Jennifer looked to Tony Stark and juked her eyebrows up twice.

Oh yeah. They had this.

* * *

An hour later, Tony Stark and Jennifer Walters were leaving a suburban New Jersey household with an agreement for a family-wide tour of the Stark Tower facility (the 'public' portions of it) for that Saturday as well as the confirmation for their first summer intern, Kamala Khan.

Tony was already calling her _Miss Marvel_.

* * *

Author's Note: A Pararescueman in the Air Force is a Special Forces member of the team known as the Air Force Search and Rescue Battalion. Their primary duty (on paper) is to rescue downed pilots… no matter where they land. CA:WS mentions Sam's job as a Pararescueman, and then claims that the Falcon device was a loan or on lone from the US Army. To accept both, Sam will be a Pararescueman who worked alongside Army Aviation Units (like 4/160 SOAR, the Nightstalkers) to rescue men involved in downed or crashed helicopters (I am unaware if we have lost any Navy or Air Force jets recently, but there have been several helicopter incidences).

The Coles Academic High School is an Earth-616 magnetic secondary school in the Hamilton Park neighborhood of Jersey City, New Jersey that is based off of the McNair Academic High School on 123 Coles Street in the Hamilton Park neighborhood of Jersey City, New Jersey in Earth-1218/Our Earth. This school is named after Dr. Robert NcNair, one of the astronauts who was killed on mission in the Space Shuttle _Challenger_ disaster. McNair Academic has a statistically-ridiculous GPA and graduation rate; try 100% graduation rate with a ethnic _balance_ of 20% of all ethnic backgrounds. While amazing for them, I'm not sure how a _magnetic_ high school can do this. Their teacher-to-student ratio is 17-to-1.

For the address of the Khan Residence, most of it is Earth-616 Canon save for the physical street address, which that is from Kamala's first appearance in _Captain Marvel, Vol 7., Issue 14_, in which Kamala is unnamed but hanging a poster of Captain Marvel in her room, fangirl'ing over it. She is age 16 in this comic, and since this is now a year earlier, Kamala Khan is a fifteen-year old girl.

I used a part of the first _Ms. Marvel_ comics as a bit of an intro for Kamala; in the comics when she was hit with the Terragen Mist Bomb turning the InHuman into an egg; Kamala 'dreamt' that Captain America, Iron Man, and (her personal hero) Ms. Marvel had selected her for something greater. I used this theme to introduce Kamala in this story by having Tony/Iron Man and Jenn/Avenger-in-Law literally show up on her doorstep asking for her by name, basically satisfying the same idea.

Yes, I use the name of Kamala's alter ego from the comics to come up with her name of her drone project. In the comics, Kamala was a very smart young woman who actually entered into the Tri-State Area Science Competition with her best friend Bruno Carrelli with their gravity-defying water project, fretting over losing to the New York team (whom had Miles Morales, the Spectacular Spider-Man).

MCU is identified as Earth-199999 in Marvel lore, while Marvel Comics/Main Continuity are Earth-616. Our Earth is Earth-1218 (some writers' birthday). DC Comics actually has an Earth designation (which I couldn't find, but generally it's still called the DCU) and in this version of the MCU, the DC Universe is a series of comic books, cartoon shows, and movies.

The Life Model Decoy was a Marvel invention that Nick Fury used to let himself be killed like a dozen times over without anyone finding the real one. Tony Stark references it in _The Avengers_ when Phil Coulson calls him in Stark Tower after activating the Arc Reactor; "You have reached the Life Model Decoy of Tony Stark…"

The sentence Kamala references that uses all the letters of the English Alphabet is _The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog_. I have no idea who figured this out.

I did omit Amir Khan, Kamala's older brother. The comic portrays him as a bit of a stuffed-shirt, though he loosens up later on. In the _Ms. Marvel_ comics, he is shown to be a college drop-out who had gone very traditional Muslim. In this, I think I'll still make him a college student (which I don't believe was ever named).


	13. Some Assembly Required, III

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**Supreme Court Building, 1 First Street, District of Columbia, June 20, 2012**

_+12 Days After Jenn Outs Her Job To The World_

Author's Note: As a reminder, I am not a lawyer. Yet I did research for this to at least get the fact straight of what a lawyer needs to prove a case in the highest judicial authority in America. Without actually going to the Supreme Court and sitting at one of these cases (lawyers can, but I don't know about the public) I tried to make this as realistic (but short) as possible. Please don't think that with $200 and a _writ of centiorari_, you can become an advocate. Most of us can't talk our way out of parking tickets. A thirty-minute legal recourse with nine Justices?

Any factual discrepancies that I bend to make this story I will address in the author's notes at the bottom (as thanks to having a lawyer-like story, I actually have lawyers reading it!)

* * *

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., (CEO, Avengers) arrived at the highest legal institution in America; the Supreme Court Building in Washington, D.C.

She was there because she was going to be involved in what would very likely be the biggest court case in her life. Hers, and hundreds of thousands of others if not more.

Officially, the court case in which had been tried in a civil court in New York State, then the New York Circuit Court of Appeals to have its original ruling upheld, and then it went to the Second District Court and lost again, and then finally to the Federal Court of Appeals with no overturn. The case in question was now being tried at the highest level of judiciary jurisdiction in America. It had a rather benign name; _Koepp vs. Trapp_. On paper, it looked benign. But anyone with a television and access to a news channel, a radio and listening to news talk, and just about every news-oriented website on the internet, it had a much more grandiose name.

It was generally called _New York State vs. The Big Three_; the 'big three' being the largest insurance companies in America, American Insurance Group, the Shulman Group, and the Hartman Group.

'_Koepp_' was the name of the petitioner, an off-duty New York Police Department patrolman who had been off-shift when the Battle of New York had occurred. The man, being in plain clothes but having a badge and a personally-owned and licensed firearm (like most every cop had and carried when off-duty), had responded by ferrying New Yorkers on the streets into buildings and subway entrances, fighting off Chitauri to get people out of harms' way. Officer David Koepp had been shot and injured severely by a Chitauri weapon during the Battle, and yet was recognized for ferrying some three-hundred plus citizens to safety. Over a month since the Battle, and Officer Koepp had gone through extensive surgeries and life-saving medical procedures to save his life, almost paralyzed and certainly would never be able to serve on the Force again. The man was a hero, an Officer of the Law who had protected and served in a very visible and recognizable manner. Though he had finally been discharged from Bellevue Hospital the week prior, but required a great deal of out-patient treatment and care considering he was wheelchair-bound, unable to move his left arm, and was still on an oxygen tank.

Shulman Group, one of the largest personal medical insurance companies in the country, who owned percentages in Primerica, Kaiser Permamente, and Blue Cross/Blue Shield, had withheld authorizations of medical payments on every singular person whom had medical insurance through one of their carriers or subsidiaries. And hospital pretty much ran off of insurance companies. Because the largest medical insurance carrier in America had stalled on payments, authorizations, and referrals for specializations and further treatments, all the others had followed suit (sadly, rightfully so) because the last thing one of the smaller companies needed was a whole bunch of people jumping ship and moving to one company who was authorizing payments and finding themselves absolutely buried in debt and unable to cover the expenses of tens of thousands of brand-new insured patients who hadn't even made a monthly payment yet with tens of thousands if not hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical debt.

What it boiled down to was sadly a three-word term based upon a precedence case known as the _Memphis & Charlestown Railroad Company vs. Reeves_ that had been reviewed by the Supreme Court and ruled back in 1870. It was the legal precedence for what would be known as the _Act of God_ clause.

Officer Koepp's case was the linchpin of just about every insurance liability case in New York City; from medical, business, building, infrastructure, property, and liability insurance. The insurance companies had plead and ruled _Act of God_ in the case of the Battle of New York when it came to paying upon the now US$5.7 _billion_ dollars in estimated damages that the ninety-five minute battle incurred. The first civil lawsuit had gone to the State of New York, _Koepp vs. Trapp_ (who was the name of the President of the Board who had held the vote and passed it for Shulman's) was known as a _bad faith denial_ lawsuit; where an insurance company comes up with a list of policy explanations and legal justifications not to provide the coverage a claimant filed.

In other words, they were fucking everyone over.

The New York State Court had ruled in favor of Trapp, Matthew Trapp being the decision-maker (and majority stockholder) of Shulman's. Any other claimant and case held against Shulman's would likely follow the same footsteps; in failure. Since Shulman's represented some thirty-eight percent of the estimated damage claims in New York City, AIG and Hartmann would likely have the same success. There were something just over ten-thousand deaths and thus life insurance claims, eight hundred businesses and seventeen corporations affected, and thirty-seven thousand personal injuries claims from May Eleventh. People and businesses had holes wrecked in their lives from the Attack… and insurance companies were stalling for time to get the rulings in their favor to renege on their duties. Hospitals had performed days and weeks of medical interventions to save lives and help the injured, going through millions of dollars worth of supplies and God only knew how many man-hours of medical labor… and the hospitals hadn't been paid. Everything from first responders to the common man who had come in the greatest time of need to prove humanity the spirit that they could carry was now being stabbed in the back by executives fretting over a quarterly statement.

The ruling had been upheld in the State Supreme Court. And then the District Court. The Federal Court of Appeals, too.

This… was the final 'make-it-or-break-it' case. If the case were upheld here…

…no, Jenn refused to think on it.

Ten days prior, she had gotten a call from no less than the State District Attorney, Eric Schneiderman, asking for her help after losing four cases in a row and having exhausted just about any other possibility.

Before? Jennifer had been working hours a day upon the lawsuit that was aimed at the Avengers (both group and individuals), Stark Industries, Stark Tower, and the Stark Property Management Company that owned the entirety of the property that use to the be the MetLife Building before being snapped up by Tony Stark two years prior. Like many lawyers, she had been following the case of _Koepp vs. Trapp_ rather religiously, knowing that it would set the tone of things for the entirety of the legal battle for just about everyone involved with the Battle of New York. Yes, there would be victories and losses despite the ruling, but one solid win for one side or the other would determine the course of action that either plaintiff or defendant would take. Would the insurance companies settle for more or less based upon that first landmark case? Would someone make them pay what was actually owed? Would it be dragged out for months on end?

Charities, foundations, emergency relief funds, and personal donations had covered much to help New Yorkers and Midtown itself, Tony having donated no less than half a _billion_ dollars in aid and charity to help those who were struggling to make ends meet through injury or the loss of a loved one. But it didn't come close to covering the cost of rebuilding a portion of one of the grandest cities in the world that had held off an alien invasion for almost two hours.

The insurance companies had won four times in a row, and the public was incensed. Medical bills, damaged property, closed businesses, a city in ruins and loves with too many missing members, and the some people that made laws to ensure the public _had_ to pay for insurance, be it home, property, vehicle, business, building, or otherwise, weren't returning the favor. It was the second largest topic on the news, beating ChiTech Raids but coming under the Chitauri Attack itself.

Really, Jennifer hadn't been surprised she had gotten a call. Not really.

Ever since the First of June when she proved Thor was the Son of Odin and the God of Thunder, the name _Jennifer Walters_ became a household one. Becoming the public face and Chief Executive Officer to the world's only team of superheroes hadn't hurt, either. There had been several interviews (paper and televised) to promote the message that the Avengers wished to send out, and Jenn had become a bit of a celebrity. After District Attorney Schniederman had lost the appeal at the Federal Court, she began working in earnest on the case against the Avengers knowing that either _her_ case would make a difference… or that she might be getting a call.

The phone had run, both proverbially and literally.

For ten days straight, Jennifer had worked fifteen hour days upon the case of _Koepp vs. Trapp_, looking up every legal precedence and avenue thanks to the gloriousness that was JARVIS, having access to every legal library _on the planet_ and hands-down the best search engine, too. JARVIS could not only look up the information Jenn needed with much better accuracy than any legal researcher or internet database, but could also compile and summarize such information in mere moments. Hell, the Artificial Intelligence probably saved her three weeks of time in that nine day period, doing the work of a megafirm's legal research department single-handedly. Walters had gotten an _amici curiae_ to file a cert petition for oral argument pertaining to conflict resolution as well as to file for admittance for the courts' bar at the one-time fee of two-hundred dollars.

Jennifer knew what the insurance companies and their lawyers were doing, the sneaky bastards. Such high-profile cases against such mega-corporations tended not to go well for the common folk. Most insurance companies settled out-of-court to save public face as such cases tended to make the news, the media generally less-than-forgiving towards such interests, truthfully or not. No doubt someone figured out they would win in the State Court, the State Supreme Court, the District Court, and likely even the Federal Court. The plan was likely to drag their feet for June Thirtieth.

From July First to the beginning of the fiscal year in October First, the Supreme Court didn't hear cases, meaning whatever had been ruled in lesser courts would stand until October when the case could be heart. Four months of free leeway to deny claims without a higher authority to stop them, the insurance companies could continue their actions with impunity without settling save for a few interests that would be in their favor to do so.

As soon as she had gotten the call from DA Schneiderman authorizing her to join in on the case, Jennifer went on the offensive and went public; the last thing the insurance companies would want. She had held a public press conference on the ground floor of Stark Tower with as many news agencies as she could stuff in a room and began _slaughtering _their public image on live broadcast, television and internet.

Jennifer had read out names of people killed or injured in the attack, families shattered by the Chitauri and now being shattered again by insurance companies. She listed businesses that had filed for bankruptcy for loss-of-business as well as not having their claims approved for damages, owners and employees now unemployed. She went on to name first responders who had gotten hurt pulling people out of the wreckage of buildings with medical bills that were piling up because the insurance authorizations were being denied for 'personal involvement' instead of some unforeseen accident. She accounted organizations and persons that had donated money to those in need, from the Catholic Church, the Mormon Church, the American Red Cross, and even personal donations of money, food, clothes, and blood, publicly thanking the countless individuals who had volunteered their time, efforts, and personal donations to those in need.

And then she called out those who had forsook their self-proclaimed duties on live television and the internet.

Jennifer spent days getting her fact straight, looking at the prior cases that Shulman had won in no less than four separate cases, seeing the evidence and arguments that hadn't worked. She prepared summaries and briefs in case the conference of nine Justices deemed it a briefing case instead of an oral one. The brief had been sent, the lawyer having found things that hadn't been used in the case for _Koepp vs. Trapp_, things that hadn't been found admissible in court, were objected to and sustained, evidence that had been deemed unusable in trial, and procedures that hadn't been allowed. If one wanted to appeal a case that had already been ruled, it was typically harder than the actual trial itself, working against an already established case. When the briefing had been accepted and the oral argument set for the Twentieth of June, Jennifer spent three days working on a thirty-minute speech, having rewritten it several times and worked on giving her argument with JARVIS, practicing her flow of words and points. She would get one shot, just thirty minutes to overturn the ruling that no less than one court had determined and three appellate courts had upheld.

Tens of thousands of people were counting on her to win this case. She had a promise to keep.

And just about every person in America would be watching.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Justices." Jennifer Walters stood at the petitioners' stand, looking at the five men and four women who benched the highest judicial office in the United States of America, dressed in the traditional black robes of their station, all of them looking at her as she stood at the podium. "My name is Jennifer Walters, and I shall begin my petition."

The small indicator light on the podium facing her turned green. She had thirty minutes.

"On May Eleventh, the same day an interstellar portal was opened to let the Chitauri invade our planet," Jennifer began, going right into her argument instead of going over the case; the briefs she had sent would have covered those facts, "a quorum was held between several insurance companies, Chief Executive Officers, majority stockbrokers, Chief Financial Officers, owners, and major investors convening together to discuss the events that had taken place in New York City." This information was technically public record if one dug deep enough through the internet, as such meetings had to publish their minutes for their stockbrokers, even if said locations was a cloud drive buried under a confusing series of routers. It helped having a very friendly artificial intelligence that had a award-winning personality and the digital code that equaled helping out his fellow organic sapients. "Much of what was discussed during the meeting was what to do with a situation such as the Battle of New York. There hadn't been an invasion of US soil since December 7th, 1941, and with the exception of September Eleventh, all other disasters were either meteorological or riot-related." A quick glance to her notes had Jenn following her script. It didn't pay to speak off-the-cuff amongst such august company such as the nine Supreme Court Justices of the United States of America; the highest judicial authority in the land. Theirs would be the final verdict upon the decision of what would be the legal battle between the insurance companies and those affected by the Battle.

"May Eleventh represented the most amount of lives lost on a singular day for America since the Battle of Gettysburg, and while the tally for damages is still continuing, it is estimated that it will be lest costly than September Eleventh, if not my much." The total tally of that day was around $35 _billion_ US Dollars, everything from medical to property. Entire insurance companies went bankrupt, were bought out and their debts assumed by larger companies, who took the massive hit and generally got bail-outs by the American Government to aid New York and the unprepared insurance companies that were footing the bill. "Like such occurrences that cause so much damage, injury, and loss of life, the City of New York declared a State of Emergency to aid those involved, to release funds to help subsidize the cost of clean-up, the extra man-hours and labor, the equipment necessary, and to aid and find temporary housing for volunteers who came in in our time of need. On that day, when non-human forces came to invade, we proved our humanity in many ways.

"New Yorkers were banded together to aid in the flight of the innocent, men and women ushering those in need towards shelter," Jennifer continued, "while donations of charity, blood, money, clothing, and food were brought in from all over America in our time of need. Strangers lent a helping hand to those who were so violently brought down, Good Samaritans caring for those when medical personal were strained and overwhelmed. Adults cared for children not their own until parents could be located when common men and women volunteered to search the rubble and damaged buildings for survivors, rolling up their sleeves and showing Mankind our collective worth, the world watching on as we not only stopped an alien invasion, but also showed that we are a species worth fighting for.

"On the very same day, there was a meeting between insurance executives and managers deciding on what to do concerning the Battle of New York."

Jennifer paused as she took a small sip of water from a glass provided upon the stand she stood at. The light was still green.

"The meeting minutes between seven insurance corporations," the Esquire continued, "whom own more than forty subsidiary insurance companies, as well as persons who own significant portions in another fifteen more insurance companies, held a closed meeting between themselves to base their collective course of action concerning this unique event. This alone is not alarming or unusual; such things have happened before. The discussion that was held was based upon what the insurance companies would do with the massive amount of claims that would be coming in within the next several days, lasting as long as a year or more as we saw on September Eleventh or when Hurricane Katrina his New Orleans." Jennifer saw that she still held the Justices attention, and that none of them looked bored or inattentive. "Such meetings are generally held in the wake of disasters, divvying up who will handle what, what would be released to help support claims, and to give general direction to the companies and their subordinate employees what to do in such pressing times.

"What makes this meeting unusual is that it was a closed meeting, not held for the public." The lawyer stated. "Nor was its minutes published to its stockholders; something generally in practice even in closed meetings. This meeting was a confidential meeting, only for those whom were present allowed to know what was decided behind closed doors. The records of this meeting were not published on public websites, weren't distributed to stockholders, and wasn't passed on down to the employees of the companies in questions, not even to their associated presidents and vice-presidents. What was decided was done so by the titans of the insurance industry, with no recourse or suggestions from anyone outside of that boardroom, and its decision was not announced, published, distributed, passed along, e-mailed, or forwarded to anyone else outside of that room. As required by law," Jennifer continued, "a record of the meeting _was_ logged and transcribed as is required for any publicly-traded company or anyone who owns a legal business practice in America. This meetings notes were digitally recorded and transcribed into typed format so as to say what was decided, whom voted for it, and the course of action that was approved should anyone need the reminder."

Jennifer took a sip of water to calm herself. She was about to drop the legal version of a tactical nuclear strike upon some of the largest companies in America.

"The decision was unanimous for the thirty-seven people involved, your Honors; they voted and approved to fight any and all claims pertaining to the Battle of New York."

There was shifting at the long bench where the nine Justices sat. The light was still green.

"The first move, according to the minutes of this confidential meeting," the CEO of _Avengers, Incorporated_, continued her petition, "was to lobby the Joint Economics Committee and its twenty congressional members into ratifying an amendment to an already preexisting law; that of the _Act of God_ and _Force Mejeure_ clauses as originally defined by the Supreme Court in the landmark case of _Memphis & Charlestown Railroad Company vs. Reeves_ in 1870. A special session was asked for by representatives of this meeting, meeting with the Congressional Joint Economics Committee on May Twelfth; a Saturday. A two-hour 'closed-door' session was held with twenty members of Congress; ten from the House of Representatives, and ten from the Senate, along with five select members of the meeting between the insurance companies. No transcription or record of this session exists," which was not authorized, Jennifer didn't say out loud, "but within that two-hour meeting, the amending of the _Act of God_ and _Force Mejeure_ Clauses had occurred to add a new addendum; outside sources of hostility not native to the planet Earth.

"This was voted and passed _unanimously_ on May Twelfth, your Honors, without needing to be ratified by the President of the United States of America or reviewed by the Supreme Court."

There was more shifting at the long bench where the nine Justices sat. The light was still green.

Jennifer took another sip of water as she looked at her nine-member audience, immediately gaging their reactions and thoughts from their stern looks. Judges, from small municipality civil courts all the way to the Supreme Court were pretty much the same; the dark robes and the look of judicial impartiality that was likely schooled into them through public perspective or taught to them by their predecessors. Judges were suppose to be hard-to-read, giving off the air of unflappability as well as not appearing to side with either side of an argument or court. But what she had just described was both unethical and unconstitutional on several levels. What was worse was that she had proof of it, legal proof at that. Closed meetings? Congressional meetings without transcriptions? The fact that twenty congressional members of two chomping-at-the-bit political parties actually fully _agreeing_ with one another in less than two hours to pass a law without partisan mudslinging? On a Saturday following the worst attack on American soil since Pearl Harbor? What was the real linchpin in that argument was that the Joint Economics Committee had been the ones approached; they didn't have oversight over insurance companies or policies. That was on the Senate Committee of Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs! Committees and sub-committees offered overview and changes in policy without the need of the entirety of Congress getting involved, 'streamlining' the passing of laws by being reviewed by a panel of selected congressional members who would give a filing review to Congress who would then vote for or against ratification of said bill. The fact that the move had completely avoided the President (which amending a law could do as the law was already passed) during a time of great visibility was certainly an act of concern.

No, the whole thing stank of being unconstitutional. It was downright treasonous. Despite the opulent buildings and prestige of Washington, DC, it was not the ultimate authority of the land. Being a democracy, the United States Government and its many proponents were held in a checks-and-balance system where every component was a watchdog for another while being monitored themselves. It had its flaws, sure, but it had been expertly crafted by passionate men to avoid issues of authoritarian rule and monarchical power, where a man, no matter how powerful, would ultimately answer to someone else.

And the last and greatest authority in the United States Government was the American people itself, as defined by the Constitution.

What Jenn had just described was akin to betrayal to the tens of thousands of affected people of New York, the hundreds of businesses, even the very economy. People had been hurt, people had been killed. Smaller businesses had folded due to loss-of-business, damages, and the fact that the insurance they were required _by law_ to have to open and maintain a business wasn't honoring their contracts with said policy holders. People were angry, people were scared, and the whole thing reminded Jenn of why she wanted to be a lawyer in the first place, the young girl who use to sit and listen to her father's stories and lessons being a Sheriff's Deputy for the County of San Bernardino, and later Sheriff.

She was a woman; she was made to protect families. And there were a lot of families who needed her.

"The second move, according to the minutes of this confidential meeting between insurance titans," Jennifer continued relentlessly, "was _how_ they were going to be able to do so, your Honors.

"Graft and corruption."

There was even more shifting at the long bench where the nine Justices sat. The light was still green.

"The minutes detailed the intent to bribe and coerce the members of the Joint Economics Committee," Jenn petitioned, "to amend the _Act of God_ and _Force Majeure_ Clauses and drag it out until June Thirtieth; when the Supreme Court no longer took on petitioners." Walters smiled a wintry smile as she looked at the Justices. "When the session would begin again on October First, the beginning of the fiscal year, many of the bills and claims would have lapsed to the three-month mark, entering a time when businesses and hospitals would be forced to accept too-small settlements to cover their losses. Hospitals would be pressured to accept much smaller settlements to avoid having to close their doors permanently, a substantial percentage of claims pushed for settlement before the beginning of the fiscal year and thus the claims closed and finalized. The same would happen for claims upon structures and businesses, months of stalled payments bringing owners to ruins while fending off creditors, forcing to accept much smaller portions than what they were owed so as to not having to file for Chapter Eleven or Thirteen. The members of the meeting estimated that with this tactic, they could save upon seventy-five percent of the total amount of claims involved with the Battle of New York, having to pay out the equivalent of approximately a billion dollars over the five billion estimated dollars that the total is believed to be. The push for low settlements mean that even if the position were reversed or refuted in the future, that the claims that had settled would remained settled, and this would gain profit in the long-term."

Oh, there was more to it than that. When September Eleventh happened, insurance companies were scrapped and sold because they couldn't even begin to cover the costs of the damages and claims that had occurred in New York City, the Pentagon, and Shanksville, Pennsylvania. The grand total in damages had been $35 billions dollars in damages, and hardly any singular insurance company could absorb the cost, not even by a quarter. The industry had been gutted, companies petitioning the American Government for bailouts to help cover the costs for damages and personal injuries, and in the end the US Government had absorbed half the cost to help the devastated people and economy. The fiscal damages done that day were felt for months and years, finally turning around with a war economy thanks to the double invasion of both Afghanistan and Iran on the War on Terror.

While no one wanted a repeat of what happened after September Eleventh, there was a large difference between 'avoiding mistakes' and 'avoiding responsibilities'.

"Including the graft of the members of the Joint Economics Committee," the Esquire continued, "substantial personal investments were given to members of the bench for the Civil Court of the City of New York, the New York State Court, the New York State Supreme Court, the Second District Court, and the Federal Court." She knew what she was saying was utterly alarming, yet she had the evidence to back up those claims, which would be contributed to her argument afterwards. "A grand total of thirty-five members were bribed and coerce to vote and uphold this ruling in order to give the insurance companies the legal out that they needed to avoid making good on their contractual responsibilities, to avoid penalizing on their credit ratings, and being taken to court. Thirty-five men and woman forgot their duties and responsibilities to their office to the American Public and were bribed to look the other way, to uphold these illegal dealings. Twenty members of Congress. Two members from the Civil Court of the City of New York. Two from the New York State Court. Two from the New York State Supreme Court." There was some shifting as Jenn continued. "Two from the Second District Court. Two from the Federal Court."

That was only thirty-two. And like a certain employee of hers that was good with a bow, Jenn aimed and fired her shot with proverbial lethal accuracy.

"Three from the Supreme Court of the United States of America."

The light turned yellow on her stand. Jennifer never looked at it, instead staring at the nine members of the bench she had just dumbed a legal nuclear weapon upon.

"The Attorney General and the Department of Justice were quite happy to vet my information and evidence, of course," Walters continued on despite having either only five minutes or a warning against her, "and I believe the Director of the FBI's direct quote was I believe… 'using someone's skull as a toilet'." Actually, it had been more vulgar than that, but Jenn had been taught not to swear in a courtroom. "I asked them nicely to wait until my oral argument began before moving forward to freeze accounts and apprehend suspects, for prosperity's sakes. Honestly, I just wanted to see the sweat and the fear in the eyes of the corrupt when they realize I have them by the balls."

The light turned red.

"Thank you for your time, your Honors. Have fun with the Feds." Jennifer smiled, no joy whatsoever on her lips as she took her notes, tapped them onto the stand to make them even and orderly, and turned and left. When she opened the doors, there were about thirty members of the Federal Bureau of Investigations waiting on the other side. The Esquire gave the lead Agent a nod as they filed past her and went into the main antechamber of the Supreme Court itself with handcuffs at the read as she thought to herself with a smile.

_Promise made, promise kept._

* * *

Captain Steven Grant Rogers had been watching all _four_ kids (technically, one was an adult) as Jennifer Walters returned to her daughters and their newest youthful addition as no less than Captain America watched Jessica, Sarah, and Elizabeth Drew along with Kamala Khan, none of the five of them having ever actually been to Washington, DC before. Jenn had insisted they go for a vacation, having spent ten exhausting days preparing for her strike against those who thought foregoing their duties would somehow be missed. Since she was expected to go to the District of Columbia anyhow thanks to her appointment with the Supreme Court, she had wanted to take her daughters to visit the nation's capital and its many monuments and sights to instill the reminder of what it meant to be an American citizen. When she had learned that neither Kamala or Steve had been, Walters had insisted that they come, partially because it would be nice for Rogers to get to view some of the things that _he_ had fought for back in World War II, but also it would be nice for him to spend time with a few people of the younger generation to ease him into the 21st Century, something he still struggled with.

"How did it go?" Steve stood up from his seat when Jennifer approached the table that Captain America sat at along with four chatty young women going on about (no surprises) whatever the hot thing was on social media in the past five minutes. Kamala and the girls had taken to each other immediately, and like teenaged girls would, immediately went to pieces over various likes, dislikes, boys, clothes, shoes, favorite romcoms and television shows. Surprisingly, Rogers handled it well. She could almost picture him at some small campsite in a French forest with the Howling Commandos, shooting the shit and telling fart jokes, stories, and about 'dames' as men were wont to do when not around the presence of women. Jenn took to her seat after Steve pulled it out for her in a gentlemanly fashion, thanking him as he went back to his own chair.

"I think quite a few people are going to find themselves without a job here _real_ quick." Jennifer replied to Steve, who nodded in approval. He had a general idea on what had been going on, and had been utterly appalled at the actions. "I think the rest of the Supreme Court Justices are going to see the writing on the wall and realize if they don't resend and appeal that addendum, then they're going to look like they were in collusion regardless of payment or not. It's… going to be an interesting few weeks in the government, I'm afraid."

Jenn looked to her kids and Kamala, sitting at their own table, jabbering on without a care in the world, talking, texting, and tweeting. They didn't understand the absolute _hell_ she had just unleashed upon the American Government for the sake of the people. There would be a great deal of finger-pointing and accusations over the next several weeks and months, sadly. Yes, some of rot would be cut out, but likely there would be good people who would be caught in the resulting storm, too. In defending New York City and its people, she had to cut off the head of the snake, and unfortunately it happened to be more than just insurance companies.

"You regret it?" Steve asked, looking at her with his blue eyes, obviously concerned. The revelations she had discovered had troubled her deeply.

"I would have regretted it more going back to New York and seeing the people there hurt and with holes in their families knowing what had happened, coming back a failure while those on high getting away with it all." The lawyer replied to the Captain, who slowly nodded his head. He understood what she was saying, just like he understood why she had crafted the Avengers the way that she had. The Founding Fathers of their nation had created a system of government that couldn't be found anywhere else in the world at that time, a democracy that was elected by the people, with no singular branch more powerful than the other, set in a system of checks and balances to regulate and oversee those so that everyone was monitored and answerable to another. She had done the same with _Avengers, Incorporated_ though in a business sense, instituting a charter where everything was monitored and annotated for legal purposes. If the courts or a congressional subcommittee wanted to interfere or interject, there would be evidence supporting all of the Avengers' claims in response to their mission statement. The world didn't need another superpower mucking with politics or pulling at national strings to see what fell out of the trees. There were enough running around doing that as it were.

"You know what, this is suppose to be vacation time." Jenn smiled at the Super Soldier as she looked over to the kids at the other table, talking up a storm. "There's a whole ton of things to see in DC. We've got the next four days to do some touristy things and some exploring. I'm fancying going to the top of the Washington Monument and visiting the White House."

"Oh, we're already got the next tactical strike set up, Mom." Jessica Drew popped up from the next table over, the nineteen-year old woman looking up from her Apple iPhone with a smile. "Kamala came up with an idea and we're sooooooo doing it. It'll be fun for everyone, but Steve especially." Her thumbs were still texting on what was undoubtedly a four-way text-a-thon, and Jenn knew that this generations' kids could certainly hold a physical conversation and an electronic one at the same time. She sensed a disturbance in the Force when her Stark Industries' iStark (ugh, that name!) beeped with an incoming text. Sighing, Walters slipped her hand into her purse and pulled out her cell phone to see a text from her oldest daughter.

_JMD:_ _National Air and Space Museum_, the text said, making Jenn nod in agreement. That would be a pretty cool place to go along with the Smithsonian and the Museum of Natural History…

Another text popped up.

_SFD: Mom, Steve doesn't know what happened on July 20, 1969!_, that came from Sarah Drew from the massively overloaded conversation involving four teenaged girl and now one female lawyer.

That had Jennifer look at the text for a moment, taking a second to connect that date with the event that happened upon it.

"Ohhhhhh…" The lawyer looked over to the Captain in question, who was obviously understanding that something was going on, and that involved him. Thankfully, he didn't seem too worried that a bunch of girls were conspiring against him. Steve Rogers might have been the perfect soldier, but he was losing the war against cellphones and femalekind. She remember the Captain stumping her about the thought of long-distance phone call charges or asking for a phone book when Jenn had showed him how to use his Samsung Galaxy cellphone. She couldn't remember the last time she had ever thought of a long-distance phone call or when she had seen a phone book last. But the idea of going to the NASM for one thing in particular?

_JSW: Perfect! Who's idea was it?_

_KAK: Mine,_ Kamala Khan admitted electronically as she and Libby Drew were talking about music, positively gushing over Justin Bieber's new megahit "Boyfriend" from his new album _Believe_. -_I mentioned something and realized he had no idea what I was talking about! No one's told him! _Ah, so the girls had conspired together to go to the Air and Space Museum because Steve Rogers didn't know what happened on what was likely one of the most important days in human history.

"I hope you brought your walking shoes, Captain." Jenn looked over to the ninety-two year old man with a smile. "Because we're going to be do a lot of sightseeing. Girls already got a destination in mind and it's worth it."

"I overheard them talking about a few places that I'd be interested in seeing. Then Libby asked if I can actually try to get my senior discount." Jenn felt her eyes zoom in on her youngest at that, who at least had the propriety of looking sheepish when she realized she was suffering her mothers' gaze.

"What? He qualifies!" Elizabeth Kathrine Drew defended herself, at least looking up from her own iPhone. "Can you imagine a guy who looks thirty pulling out his drivers' license to prove he actually get a senior citizens' discount? I want to see the clerk's face!" That had the girls giggling and yet even Steve looked a little amused at the thought. "I mean, I don't even know what a drivers' license from the Thirties looks like! Paper with a photo stapled to it?"

"No photograph." The Captain replied, obviously knowing what a drivers' license looked like from the 1930's. "I remember Bucky getting his. It was like a small postcard that they typed on."

"What's a postcard?" Libby asked Kamala in a half-whisper, the fifteen-year olds sitting side-by-side as they chatted and text.

"That's that thing tourists are always getting when they visit someplace new." The Pakistani-American young woman replied, never looking from the digital field of texts. "I think you mailed them…?" Kamala finally unburied her head to look at Libby and shrugged her shoulders and Jenn tried not to facepalm herself. "I'm trying to wonder who 'Bucky' is."

"That would be Bucky Barnes." Jessica replied, looking up from her own phone, Jenn still marveling how teenagers could do it. Her own first cell phone could call people. That was it.

"You know who that is?" Steve asked, looking a little surprised, looking to Jessica first and then Jennifer.

"Yeah, he's…" _He doesn't know_, Jenn realized as her own thumbs worked on her iStark and texted the group chat for their next destination after the National Air and Space Museum.

_JSW: Next stop after NASM, Captain America and the Howling Commandos Exhibit_, the lawyer sent to the group, getting for set of teenage eyes to go wide and look right at her with smiles on their faces.

"Uh oh." Captain America said as he sat at the table and realized that every one of them were now looking at him in a predatory manner.

* * *

Author's Notes: The Supreme Court Session is from 1 October to around June to July, in which the rest of the time is finalizing cases and petitions. The Justices sit in a two week session to hear cases known as sittings, and then the next two weeks for rulings know as rulings. For the sake of this story, I had it moved to 30 June as a deadline.

Generally, a conference is a convene of nine Justices who decide if a case is worthy of their attention, and is not open to the public or others. Then there is a briefing case (in which prior trial or case is reviewed). If there is new evidence or arguments to be heard, then it proceeds to the oral argument in which the lawyer in question gets thirty minutes to prove the discrepancies.

The _Memphis & Charlestown Railroad Company vs. Reeves_ was the first instance I could find pertaining to the _Act of God_ clause, involving a load of tobacco and a train.

I mention that the _Koepp vs. Trapp_ case being 'the 'linchpin' case that all the other insurance claims were holding their breath on. This has happened on several occasions where a singular case would be highlighted and seen as the benchmark for a cascade of others, usually based on that case being a standard of sorts; in this case an off-duty NYPD officer injured ferrying people during an alien attack. Insurance companies have used many reasons not to pay out (and I'm sure some of you have faced this before) but I used a little of a story from a co-worker when he and his _pregnant_ wife were struck from behind, incurring more medical visits and check-ups since his wife was six-months along, and despite it being more than two years later, they are still fighting their own insurance company to cover those costs, only having done some of them (despite having approved of referrals).

Erik Schniederman is, in fact, the New York District Attorney back in 2012 before forced to resigned later on.

I mention the resistance that insurance companies had into paying; the total cost of 9/11 was around $35 _billion _USD (from personal claims to the $9 billions dollars that the WTC's cost) and needed government intervention to cover (from bailouts to directly paying off some of the insurance debt). Lawrence Silverstein, the man who 'owned' the WTC at the time (for a grand total of two months) had to litigate to get paid double for the 'double incident' of the Flights hitting Tower one and then Tower Two to cover the cost, and still ended up with a loss (instead of the reported 'heavensend' that the media portrayed him getting for the $4.5 billion dollar victory that he meeked out of the twenty-seven insurance companies that helped insured the buildings).

Publicly-traded companies generally do publish their meeting minutes for investors and stockbrokers. I don't know if it is required by law that they do so, but 'silent' meetings must still be recorded to some degree so as to prove that espionage (government or corporate) is not being conspired as well as any audits or cases held against them in a court of law. Having a meeting with no record on hand looks _very bad_ (which is what the mob gets away with when they use their 'family' lawyer who can say that it was an attorney/client meeting, thus protected by law).

The Joint Economics Committee is a special permanent committee that seats both Representatives and Senators, with an even amount of Democrats and Republicans regardless of majority. Their duties are to review the _Economic Report of the President_ (which… I have no idea what that is besides what the title suggests) and have nothing to do with what I have written above. Which is why I mention no real-life members, past or present.

July 20, 1969 - The Landing on the Moon of Apollo 11.

At this point in time, Justin Beiber was a very popular act coming off of his new album _B__elieve_. This was before he was arrested and his popularity took a rather massive hit. My daughter use to sing that song outloud while dancing when it came on the radio, which is why I picked it.


	14. Some Assembly Required, IV

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**The Rotunda, National Archives Building, 700 Pennsylvania Avenue, District of Columbia, June 21, 2012**

_+1 Day After Jenn Delivers Her 'Argument' To The Supreme Court_

Author's Notes: 30 days. 14 chapters. Almost 100,00 words. Almost 5,000 reads. 50+ Reviews, 90+ Follows, 60+ Favs. Thank you one and all for making this story a smashing one!

No worries, true believers. You keep reading them, and I'll keep writing them.

* * *

Captain Steven Grant Rogers (US Army, CPT, ret.) was in an opulent room known as 'the Rotunda for the Charters of Freedom' in the National Archives Building, a room that was made of marble, hosted a pair of very large classically-done paintings, and held specially-sealed, _very_ well-protected documents that were the very basis of America. At the head of the circular room dominated by a standing slab of green marble flanked by green marble pillars laid three documents that were held in hermetically-sealed containers that were the very cornerstone of the American government, its foundation from the the day they were ratified to today. He found himself walking towards those documents to see Jessica Miriam Drew staring at the three documents known as the Declaration of Independence, the United States Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. The young woman had been standing there for approximately ten minutes or so, having said something to her mother, Jennifer Walters, that she needed a minute or so alone. That had been approximately ten minutes or so ago. Jennifer and the other girls, Sarah and Elizabeth Drew as well as Kamala Khan, were waiting patiently by the door leading away from the Rotunda while Steve elected to see if everything was well. He approached Jessica, standing by her side and seeing that she was looking at the centerpiece of the room, the US Constitution.

"Can… I ask you a little bit of a personal question?" Jessica asked while looking at the massively-framed parchment, encased in what was described the the Rotunda curator as bulletproof glass, a portable hermetically-sealed container, and guarded judiciously by armed men and school children on field trips. The nineteen-year old woman was looking at the central document, Steve noted. "Something about before?" No doubt Jenn told her daughters to be mindful to him and not ask questions related to actions and events during World War II; it was generally frowned upon these days for a normal civilian to ask a veteran about war-related activities, citing reasons such as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (what he knew as Shell Shock) and mental health. When he was a child, it was considered a point of pride to ask a man who had been 'Over There' about their service in Europe during the Great War, yet Steve remembered seeing men of pride and honor holding back on memories too painful to share.

"Of course." The Captain replied, looking to the woman that was nearly a fifth his calender age, though technically he was physically only six years older at the same time as Jessica. His life was strangely like that now.

"I've heard the stories and legends about your reasons for joining the Army back in World War II," the young woman began, her eyes still on the brass-framed documents, "what people say were your reasons, at least." Steve tried not to think of the little 'incident' at the Howling Commando Exhibit in the Smithsonian Institute when he had begun unintentionally discrediting an 'expert' on the elite unit he had handpicked from the survivors of his liberation of a HYDRA Prisoner Of War Camp, finding that the fact had been fairly embellished over the decades since the _Valkyrie_ had gone down in the Arctic Ocean. The kids had been rather amused at that, a 'living legend' arguing against his own legend. "I know that joining during that time was a big deal, and that you were denied half-a-dozen times due to your… original stature." That was a nice way of saying that he had been a five-foot-three, ninety-five pound asthmatic kid from Brooklyn with a propensity into getting into losing battles. He had been '4F'ed' multiple times trying to enlist; that the Exhibit had gotten right, at least. "But what was _your_ reason? Not the public one, not the acknowledged one. The one that had you stand in that line after a few times of not making the cut, knowing that it was likely going to happen again?"

Huh. No one one had ever asked him that before. Bucky and Peggy… they had been the only ones that had known.

"You know that Hitler's rise to power wasn't all of a sudden, right?" Rogers asked, seeing the young woman nodding. "I think he was imprisoned for a coup attempt before, but he became a Chancellor to Germany in the early-30's… and there were questions and concerns." Jessica was looking at him instead of the framed documents. "It wasn't obvious or apparent at first, but the words were there. By the time Czechoslovakia happened… you know of that, right?"

"Peace in our time." The young woman replied, getting Steve to nod at the words delivered by Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain in 1938 in a bid to stave war. It had lasted less than a year before the Invasion of Poland in September of 1939.

"I wouldn't say war was inevitable, but I would say that everyone was working too hard to avoid another Great War that we ended up with one." The Super Soldier replied. "There were those who called out what Hitler was, a threat and a menace, but they were cried out as warmongers. What would have happened if we had listened a little better? Been a little more proactive? Made things more difficult for Hitler? All it would have taken was a few more Germans of another party to refuse to ratify decisions that gave the National Socialists more power, perhaps more foreign pressure to make Germany more cautious, less assured." Steve shook his head at the more-recent memories of those times, where so few could claim to having a living memory of such. "Jewish people were fleeing Germany and Austria in droves and we sat around and did nothing. I… _hated_ that feeling. That powerlessness where good men and women were persecuted and punished for no real good reason, but unable to do anything. While I wanted to say I did my part in the war effort, I think a big part of it was that we just stood by and let it happen, distracted by things that seemed more important at the time, but now?" Steve snorted softly as he thought about those times. "Now I'm the only one that remembers them, and later generations look back and ask 'what the hell were you thinking?'. It's… not a feeling that I like having, knowing that something _could_ have been done, but assuming I was too _small_ to do anything about it."

"You know, that's really good wisdom right there." Jessica mused, looking back to the documents before them. "I was trying to imagine them," the young woman pointed to the three sealed documents that were the basis of America, "going up against the British Empire. They saw what was wrong to them and they made a common cause together despite that some of them despised one another. I was trying to imagine… that resolve. To stand up to something so powerful, to look it in the eye and say '_no, not one more step_'. Just like New York. Just like Mom." Steve saw Jessica look at the documents for a moment before looking to him. "I… got a job offer for one of the government agencies."

"I heard." Jenn had taken a step back and let her oldest daughter make up her mind on her own terms, there to support her and answer her questions, but otherwise steering clear of any kind of influence. Walters had wanted Jessica to come to her own decision, the one that would best fit her without pressure or expectation. He had to admit that Jennifer was certainly something. She reminded him a lot of Peggy; a woman standing tall amongst others in times of adversity and dismissal. That a normal human woman and a lawyer had come up from nowhere to now shaking the very pillars of the Earth just showed what she was capable of with her own intelligence and drive was amazing. That was one of the reasons he had voted for her to being his boss; her views and her will were something that he respected. Now he was looking at her daughter, the young woman Jenn had taken under her wing when she was a little girl in a bad situation, given an offer to become something more, a rather important opportunity as he understood it once someone told him what the Central Intelligence Agency was and what they did.

"I… wanted to make the right decision, one that I could live with for years to come even if it didn't turn out what I wanted it to be or didn't end up the way I thought it might be." The oldest Drew girl said, holding herself slightly. "It's a really big leap that I never expected, but I wanted to be… _comfortable_ with what I was going to do, to look back and say that I made the right choice for myself with as much information as I could get to making that decision. I certainly didn't want to jump into something with delusions or apprehensions."

"That I get." He did; he had felt that way the first time he went into the Army Recruiting Office, the shortest and lightest man in the room. He hadn't jumped at the opportunity; he had made his decision based upon what he knew and what he felt. He wanted to do his part because he couldn't imagine backing down from such an apparent wrong. He had been a born fighter that sadly didn't have the body to match, but that had never stopped him from standing up for what he believed to be the right thing. "I take it you found your reason?"

"Yes, yes I did." Jessica smiled, and he saw that it was true; it was in her green eyes, that resolve. He didn't need to be told what she had decided when it was so obvious. "It's… a big leap."

"I remember something Howard Stark told me once, something from Earnest Hemingway." Steve said to the young woman. "_'Only those prepared to go too far will know how far they can go'_. Howard was many things, but a patriot was most certainly one of them. He flew missions in planes despite not being Army Air Force, made and tested our weapons before giving them to us, and was always there when we needed him. People might remember me and the Commandos," Steve had been a bit touched that there was an exhibit so that the would could remember his friends for the men that they were, "but there were hundreds if not thousands involved that, without their support, would have made that struggle more difficult. Perhaps even impossible. We all had our parts, great and small. Just like you will."

"Chicken Soup for the Patriot's Soul." Jessica smiled wryly. Steve wasn't really sure what chicken soup had to do with it. Probably another 'modern' reference. "Thank you for listening, Captain Rogers. Sometimes we just need to hear out our decisions to understand our reasonings behind it."

"Well, it was my pleasure, ma'am." The soldier nodded respectfully. That had Jessica snort.

"You know twenty-six year olds don't call nineteen-year old girls 'ma'am', right? We're _hardly_ that far apart in age, just six years and seventy-three." The young woman smirked and gave him a wink. Steve couldn't help himself as he began to laugh.

* * *

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., (CEO, Avengers) was enjoying a nice June day at the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool where the National Mall was. It wasn't a mall but a long narrow park where a rectangular pool that was in between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. Further along was the US Capital Building where Congress was, and further back was the Jefferson Memorial on the Potomac, either side of the Mall bearing even more government buildings that represented the 'government' section of Washington, DC. Many of the buildings were made of marble or stone instead of concrete and re-bar, and the frescoes, friezes, columns, buttresses, designs, statues, and promenades dominated the general motif in a Romanesque fashion, a sort of American Rome of the modern era. Everywhere one looked, one would see architectural wonders from domes to narthecies, a touch of class and regalia to a land where class nobility had been swept away for a more democratic process. Statues and reliefs of prominent Americans were to be found amongst the buildings and lobbies, memorials and monuments to herald America's two-hundred and thirty-six year history.

Captain Steve Rogers, Kamala Khan, Jessica, Sarah, and Elizabeth Drew, as well as herself, had just gotten done visiting the National Vietnam Memorial and its fifty-eight thousand plus names of those who died in that decade-long conflict. Seeing it reminded Jenn of the movie _Saving Private Ryan_ with the scene of old Private Ryan visiting the graveyard in France with its crosses and stars of Americans who had fallen in foreign lands. They had also visited the National WWII Memorial, Jenn telling the Captain that several existed in various states and not to mention the one on the Normandy Beach to represent those who died on June 6, 1944. Seeing many of the memorials and statues of Washington DC made her think of one of the more popular ones, the Marine Corp War Memorial in Arlington, Virgina; most recognized it as the Iwo Jima Flag Memorial, though it was dedicated to _all_ Marines who died in the defense of America.

That did give her the thought of a memorial for New York, though.

After they had lunch at a delicatessen, Sarah had come up with the idea to take Steve Rogers to the Newseum; the interactive news museum that was half-dedicated to the First Amendments' Freedom of Speech and a history of journalism. The World War II Veteran was taking it all in rather well, and Jenn had explained to him that, in a strange sort of way, the girls were giving him the 'welcome home' parade he never gotten following the War's end. Being able to tour about to see the things that he had stood for and fought for, a new generation taking him in and helping ease him into the 21st Century, Steve finally seemed a bit more at ease knowing that everyone was visiting like he was, but that the girls were doing so in a manner that everyone would enjoy, including him.

The Newseum was a success for everyone as the girls had fun with the interactive news room, able to play at being reporters and anchors in the life-like news room complete with cameras and touch screens to show techniques on running broadcasts. Jessica zeroed in on the photojournalism section, no surprises, while Kamala played being an anchor and delivering a report on bipartisan mudslinging in Congress (which cracked up Jennifer to no end) while Libby worked as the cameraman and Sarah did the weather. Steve was all grins watching it happened as they moved onto another section that Jenn hadn't known the Newseum had, a sight that had her heart stop as soon as she saw it.

The Wall.

"Oh my God…" Jennifer Walters found herself standing in front of eight sections of four-foot long by twelve foot tall barriers generally called 'Texas T Barriers' in America, seeing graffiti upon their concrete surface as she immediately recognized it for what it was. The girls were looking at the concrete barrier that loomed over them all as Steve frowned at it. "I had completely forgotten about this."

"What is it?" Libby asked as Jennifer stood before it, seeing the edifice that had once been the very symbol of a world divided. Jessica hadn't even been born when it was finally torn down, an event played throughout the world that signaled the end of a terrible era.

"It's the Berlin Wall." Jenn didn't look at any of the wall-displayed information boards describing it; she didn't need them. Instead, she walked up to the concrete barriers that once surrounded a city, an island of democracy in a sea of communism, the wall that divided West from East. She reached up slowly to touch the surface, feeling the many small pits and imperfections of its manufacture, the spray painted decorations of a people oppressed lashing out at their cruel leaders.

"Once, there were two Germany's; West and East." Jenn began, speaking softly. "Once, this very wall defined the Cold War that gripped the entire world, the visible wall that separated NATO from Warsaw, West and East, Democracy and Communism. People once looked upon this very wall as the symbol of tyranny and oppression, ruled by fear and biodegradation, manned by those who shot first and didn't bother with the questions. How many lives did this Wall consume?" Jenn closed her eyes as she touched the twelve-foot tall concrete barrier, remembering when she saw it come down on the news when she was… nine? It had been the signal of the end of the Cold War, the first of many steps that included the end of the German Democratic Republic and even the fall of the United Soviet Socialist Republic; the death knell of the Warsaw Pact. She remembered the broadcast well, seeing men and women climbing the wall to tear it down, sections crumbling away as West Berliners and East Berliners joined together fully for the first time in nearly thirty years without a vertical concrete moat to stop them.

"What happened?" Rogers asked quietly, though the girls were just as curious. This had been a time when Steve had still been in the Arctic Ocean and none of the girls born yet. Only she knew, only she remembered.

"After World War Two," Jenn began, her hand sliding off the concrete as she looked at the marks made on its surface, "Germany was parceled into four sectors; American, English, French, and Russian. The idea was to reconstruct the nation while avoiding the mistakes of World War One." There had been more to it than that considering there had been Nazi holdouts going into the early-50's as well as the politics of the day. "The American and English Sectors quickly joined together to streamline the effort and badgered the French into doing the same. The French were going to dump the debt of rebuilding France onto the German economy _again_ as if they had forgotten how Hitler came to power in the economically-depressed Wiemar Republic." Which was actually what happened to the Soviet Sector, the USSR occupying what would be known as East Germany and taking a healthy portion of its industrial production, agricultural growth, and tradable goods, practically bankrupting that portion of the country. That led to the Iron Curtain and the Berlin Wall. "Russia was initially interested in consolidation and reunification of Germany," Jenn continued, "but when Old Joe Stalin died in 1953 and Nikita Khrushchev took over as General Secretary, no more talks were held."

"Sounds like a mess." Sarah Drew pointed out.

"I think everyone had their part in it, great and small." Walters replied. "Both Wars did nobody any favors, a great deal was damaged and destroyed, and practically two generations were fleeced of its numbers as a result. The old hatreds and the ghosts of a millennium of war in various states in Europe had as much to do with it as the current thought of the day did. How long did it take for America and England to finally warm up to one another? Almost two centuries and a pair of World Wars before we found ourselves the staunchest of allies facing a Cold War." Honestly, the Cold War had probably rebuilt Germany quicker than any other reason, as well as keeping war out of Europe, strangely enough. With the exception of civil actions and what happened to Yugoslavia, there hadn't been a war in Europe almost seventy years; the longest period of peace the continent of Europe had ever had in centuries, perhaps as far back as the Battle of Hastings in 1066 or even further.

"Lines were drawn, armies were planted, and Germany was a chessboard for the proverbial World War Three that thankfully never happened. The people of that country, though? Both sides of it?" Jenn looked up to the Wall. "Two generations of people born and lived knowing that the first shots fired would have their country turn into the worst battlefield in existence, brigades of tanks and flotilla of bombers ready to destroy the other side at the snap of the fingers. By the time I was born, there had already been several incidences and a great deal of clandestine and covert operations on both sides, a shadow war instead of a physical one." Her gaze went from the Wall to Jessica, who was looking at her. Jessica had finally made her decision about the CIA, telling Jenn. "Men and women fought and died to protect their nations on both sides of that rift while nations armed themselves with increasingly more lethal means. It's… a wonder how we didn't end up with wholesale slaughter as a result. Despite it all," she waved to the Wall, "cooler heads and the negotiation table prevailed instead of outright war, though there were more than a few proxy wars that we could have done without in the long run. I guess we did well; we're still here, after all.

"But I certainly remember the day the Wall came down."

She couldn't remember the date, but she remembered the day. Jenn had sat beside her father as they had watched the news, seeing Germans tearing down a section while a throng of people awaited for the breach to be made, the image transmitted throughout the world. What had been the very symbol of separation had been destroyed as West and East Berliners moved forward to greet one another in a display of grieving joy as countrymen reunited once more, families once torn apart by borders brought back together. Oh, there had been issues and politics that had made the transition difficult, and certainly East Germany hadn't been thrilled with the inclusion of homelessness and unemployment when the German Federal Government took over, making their eastern kin feel as if they had 'lost' as if it had been their fault. Despite the troubles and issues, Germany was a powerhouse in Europe. Yet she remembered the day when two Germanys became one, sitting at her fathers' side as they watched in awe, remembering what her father told her.

_This is the most important day of their lives_, Sheriff Morris Walters had said, his arm around her shoulders as a nine-year old Jennifer Walters watched on, barely cognizant of the politics of it, only knowing that something important was happening, something that the adults were saying was monumental.

How was the Battle of New York any different?

Jenn looked at the Wall, knowing that millions had done so one day hoping, _praying_, that that concrete edifice would be brought low. Not all walls were so obvious, yet there were things that men and women hoped and prayed for with equal fervor, rightful or not. There was that saying about those who forgot history were doomed to repeat it, but she saw it in a different light. That Wall represented the lives of everyone involved, oppressed _and_ oppressor. To forget it was a disservice to them all, even those who were seen as the villains of the conflict. Jenn knew that nobody ever woke up saying '_I'm going to do evil today_'; everyone had a justification for their actions no matter how heinous the crime. There had been Germans (and Russians) who manned that Wall to keep people from illegally crossing it, likely seeing themselves as doing their duty for their country, to keeping out spies and preventing secrets from being sold to the West. Thing was, they hadn't been wrong in that no matter how one looked at it.

It made her think of the things that she had done for the Avengers, the company she had built in order to protect; both the world and the people who would be protecting it.

* * *

Evening had come to the District of Columbia, and the group had finished dinner and went back to their hotel suite for the evening. The girls were all yammering about some new movie that was coming out the next day featuring Colin Farrell, all the while texting on their phones, while Jennifer Walters and Steve Rogers pretended to watch television but really were more talking about more current events and the things Jennifer was working on involving _Avengers, Incorporated_ and some of the things she had in mind. The last think Jenn hand wanted to do was to try and enact counterproductive plans or get involved in a mess that would be too big to handle.

The Non-Profit hadn't even existed for a month and it already had been making waves throughout New York City as well as America. The donation from Asgard at least alleviated the concern for long-term finances, each of the diamonds that Odin Allfather had donated for the purpose of the defense of Midgard each worth close to a million dollars each, and the chest had contained several _thousand_ of them. She was still going to run the Foundation and the charities like she had planned, but at the least Walters had said that she wouldn't have to spend half her time begging for cash. Steve knew that when it came to business, he really didn't have much to say, but he knew that Jenn was using him as a sounding board, making sure that she was doing the right thing by having people listening to her ideas to pick them apart to find flaws or obstacles. Really, Jennifer Walters had a good head on her shoulders and a heart of gold, and the soldier had to admit that they had really gotten lucky with someone of her caliber and intent. The Avengers could have done a lot worse.

"…and I'm getting a phone call." Jenn pulled out her cell phone from one of her suit jacket pockets, Steve still marveling at the fact of handheld communication devices that were so slim and verbose. They seemed to practically do everything, and people were really attached to them. It reminded him of his family's first radio, everyone listening to the news, baseball game, and radio broadcast shows like _The Shadow_ and _Doc Savage_. Different times, yet same wonder. "Ah! It's Rick." The smile on her face said it all. The lawyer indicated that she was going to step away from the couch that they had been sharing while they talked, and Steve indicated it was fine as she left the main suite and went to one of the bedrooms, the thin device going to her ear as she answered it.

"I still can't believe she's dating Rick Jones." Kamala Khan piped up, only semi-engrossed with her own cell phone, typing away with her thumbs at a speed that Steve knew he would never match. He never did learn how to type, but it seemed everyone had digital typewriters called _keyboards_ and knew how to type at speeds that would have made a typist cry in frustration. "I love his morning show."

"I still remember _A-Bomb_ as a band." Jessica Drew replied with a smile, looking over to Steve as they sat around the suite's round dinner table. "I take it you probably aren't too keen on modern music. I don't see you listening to dubstep or rap."

"I like Bruno Mars." Steve retorted, having gotten a 'playlist' from Doctor Hank Pym when the older gentlemen discovered who he was and decided to help him out with his discoveries of the 21st Century. He had also gotten a list of movies to watch, in which the first one had been _Star Wars_. Then _Star Trek_. Now that someone had actually went and landed on the Moon of all things (he'd watched that video certain it was fake), he was actually going to have to give it a shot once someone explained to him what _Netflix_ was. Rogers was still trying to understand that they showed so many movies now when cinemas back when he was a teen were generally a theater or two at best, playing several movies but only at certain times. Now if one missed a movie, one could go to a 'red box' (whatever that was) to get it a few weeks later or watch it on a 'lap top' via some stream… thing utilizing an enter-net. Steve just developed the habit of nodding when people expected it.

"Yeah, I don't think he'll be much of a fan of Eminem." Sarah Drew pointed out to the others, the girls all nodding in understanding. Steve assumed they weren't talking about a candy-coated chocolate. "I mean what did they listen to back then? Classical music? Big band?"

"They had pop music for their time." Jessica replied as if he wasn't sitting some dozen feet away, though he did appreciate that Jessica technically defending him. "But big band, jazz, folk music, and crooners were the thing back then. Probably lots of Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, and Ella Fitzgerald." The young woman furrowed her brow. "At least I think so." She was about to say something else when they all heard muted shouting coming from the bedroom Jennifer had entered for some privacy, Steve almost getting off the couch to check to see if everything was fine as the muted shouting continued. He caught himself from going any further, realizing that it would likely be a bad time to do so. Jennifer was likely the kind of person who would face her own battles and would ask for help when needed, which he respected that. He looked over to Jessica, seeing her face sour at some of the words that were bleeding through the closed door. Definitely an argument over a phone. It reminded Steve of his old neighborhood in Greenspoint, Brooklyn, the co-op apartments where the walls weren't thick enough to disguise the noises of a family living next door, above, or below.

"Sounds like its going to be an official breakup." Sarah said as she turned off her phone, every single one of them getting the gist of the removed conversation despite only hearing perhaps a quarter of the words. Hearing the reply of '_I'm not sleeping with my employee_' was a pretty good indication on what the conversation had started off with… and who it involved. _Damn,_ Steve felt bad about it. He had nothing but professional courtesy and respect for Jenn, the lawyer reminding him a good deal of Margaret 'Peggy' Carter; an independent woman who rose up to challenges and found ways to solve them personally. He wasn't interested in getting into a relationship anytime soon, not so soon after being recovered and finding out that nearly seventy years had passed and practically everyone he knew was dead.

Thankfully, Jenn had the same thought and never hinted once at anything else, though there were certainly women who had eyed him pretty hard during their time in Washington, DC. There had actually been a rather awkward situation where some woman dressed rather provocatively had decided to openly flirt with him and Jessica came to the rescue, slipping her arm around Steve's and suggesting the woman turn around and leave with her dignity because '_men weren't the only thing widows ate alive_'. Shockingly, the woman had taken the hint and fled the scene with some of her dignity intact as fast as her stilettos could carry her. Supposedly, Kamala had 'filmed' it with her phone (they could do that now) and sent it to Natasha Romanoff.

Nat had evidently thought the entire thing hysterical. And supposedly showed it to Tony, too.

Jennifer came out of the bedroom looking somewhere between ready to break something or break down, her face still flushed with anger and the one-sided shouting match she had over her phone. Steve wanted to say something, but he couldn't think of anything for the life of him. Evidently Rick Jones had thought Jenn had taken him down to DC for a vacation that involved more than just taking him to national landmarks with her daughters and Kamala Khan. The lawyer had just spent the past week and a half preparing for the case that would fight the insurance companies for the sake of the people of New York, and had taken all of them down because she wanted to reward herself a little for the time she had spent grueling over the case. None of them had ever been to DC, and Steve had liked the idea of visiting the nation's capital. Having the girls along was nice, people whom he could interact with, have them explain things he didn't understand, and in a way they were becoming a little bit of a surrogate family, too. _Family_ was certainly one thing that Jennifer did right in spades.

"Mom." Libby Drew opened up her arms to indicate hug time, her young face saying it all. Rogers watched on as the lawyer let off a sigh to let the anger die off as she took the offer, her daughters dog-piling her with hugs, and even Kamala joining in to give the woman who had given her the opportunity of a lifetime her sympathy. He watched on and saw something that he missed from what only seemed a few months before, the day when the Commandos took on a mission that involved a train.

If love could be a superpower, then Steve Rogers fully acknowledged that Jennifer Walters possessed it.

* * *

Author's Notes: The ideas behind the memorials, museums, displays, and especially the largest remaining portion of the Berlin Wall in the world should all be factually correct. Any error made is my own with my full apologies. I haven't been to DC in two decades, yet what is there is breathtaking.

I could only gloss slightly about the Wall, the rift between West and East Germany, and the politics and issues that occurred for so long. For the Germans who lived within sight of that fucking monstrosity or the Iron Curtain, I can't even begin to imagine.

But I most certainly do remember the day the Wall fell. I sat at my fathers' side and watched on the news when it came down.

I did want to highlight a little on Steve and his lack of modernity. So he uses some 40's references for more modern things, but some words wouldn't make sense to him (like streaming, the internet, or… God, the Rat Pack).

Yes, Rick Jones did accuse Jenn of sleeping with Captain America. It was never meant to be an actual relationship (as Rick was never really more than a minor or supporting character in the comics).


	15. Some Assembly Required, V

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, July 10, 2012**

_+20 Day After Jenn Delivers Her 'Argument' To The Supreme Court_

Author's Notes: Happy Independence Day to both America (7/4) and Canada (7/1).

I'm thinking some of you might be seeing where I'm going with Jess. But then I went and gave her a partner, too.

One could say that this person… is _unbeatable_. ('Nuff said!)

* * *

Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark was taking a few moments to clear out his head after making a few design modifications to an idea he coined 'MATILDA' when he heard a burst of noise coming out of the elevator that had exited onto the main level of Stark Tower's Penthouse, looking over from his positing from the bar as he saw, of all things, _Jennifer Walters_ running out of the elevator yelling and whooping out like a mad woman. He wasn't exactly certain how easy it was to run in a pencil skirt and a pair of heels, but the look on her face was obvious as she spotted him and immediately headed right towards him like a human missile, laughing and shouting at the same time carrying what looked to be a thick file in her left hand.

"WE DID IT! WE DID IT!" Jenn whooped as she practically collided with him in a hug, laughing all the while as she pulled away, holding the file in the thick manila folder in front of her, somewhere in between them. "Tony, we _won_!"

"The… Supreme Court case?" The Iron Man asked as he looked at the three-inch thick file in her hand and then at her glowing face, the thing they had been waiting for for almost three weeks now, when Jenn had practically _destroyed_ a portion of the government for the sake of the people of New York City. Her actions had been all over the news with mixed reactions; some cheering her on while others vilifying her. The Federal Bureau of Investigations had arrested a good many people found to be in collusion with what had been known as _the Great Betrayal_ throughout the news media, from print to television to the internet. Congressional members were in jail without bail, court judges taken in and their lives thoroughly investigated by many different agencies such as the Federal Bar Association, the Internal Revenue Service, and the United States Secret Service. Heads were rolling from the massive corruption case that was embroiling the American Government, and politicians were on the defensive; some rightfully so, others afraid that they were next on the list.

Yet the biggest target had been Jennifer Walters herself, good or ill.

The media and politicians were mixed on what to do with a woman who had practically _assassinated_ the careers of thirty-plus members of the American Government in various levels and branches, and that number had been steadily growing for reasons that extended from and around the _Koepp vs. Trapp_ case. Some wanted to give her a medal, others wanted her head. Many dug deep to drag her name through the mud… yet found nothing. Everything she did was public and accountable, and the digging only highlighted the works she had done in both past and present. In an attempt to tear her down, they put her on a pedestal that was quickly becoming platinum-certified. Yet all of it hinged on the result of the case of _Koepp vs. Trapp_, whether she succeeded or not. She needed the win just as much as the people of New York did. The past three weeks had been stressful ones as _Avengers, Incorporated_ became a hotly-contested item thanks to her actions. The Avengers themselves backed her fully, and they had all been awaiting the word of the remaining six Supreme Court Justices and their ruling upon the case.

"The resolution's been passed; the insurance companies are now being monitored by the IRS and the Secretary of Finance for proper dispensation and compensation for all cases pertaining to the Battle of New York." The lawyer smiled, still glowing. "Finance officers from the American Government are now involved with the process to make sure that claims are proper, but then they will be paid in full. Personal, business, structural… _everything_." Jenn wiped at the tears that were coming from her eyes, tears of victory but also something more. Walters had known that in order to deliver upon her promise to the people of New York that she would have to take on a portion of the US Government, perhaps even hurt it to get to those that she had discovered to be corrupt. It had been put to vote by the members of _Avengers, Incorporated_ and its associated members, the basic details laid bare so that everyone understood what was going on and what she would have to do. The vote had been unanimous after a round of questions and concerns, people highlighting what they thought and felt, but everyone had agreed with the Chief Executive Officer; the cause would be taken up with full support of the five Avengers and eight associated members. They would stand together, hell or high water, and fight for the people in a different arena but with the same fervor.

And they had won thanks to the Avenger-in-Law.

"We need to celebrate." Tony smiled, knowing that this would be a perfect reason to celebrate. Jenn had pulled off another miracle, one just as grand as proving Thor in Norway, perhaps even better. "Press conference, then celebration." The people needed to know that they had pulled off a miracle for them, that _she_ had pulled off a miracle for them. Each of them had their own special talents, and Jenn's was the legal arena. Who would have thought that a small-time lawyer from San Bernardino would end up the heaviest of hitters in the 'Justice League'? Then again, who would have guessed that a skinny shrimp from Brooklyn would have ended up the greatest soldier to have ever lived?

Well, the world was certainly learning now.

* * *

It only took a few hours for the press to gather in the conference room at the ground floor of Stark Tower, something that many of them had done for a wide variety of reasons on several occasions. It use to be that Tony Stark led such things, but now he was the one talk perhaps a third of the time. Sometimes it was the new Press Secretary for _Avengers, Incorporated_, one Darcy Lewis, a graduated PoliSci student from Culver University and a woman who was involved with the events at Puento Antiguo, New Mexico. Anyone with any experience with reporting could easily tell that the roster amongst those of _Avengers, Incorporated_ were an elite few, those who had stood for the members of the Avengers themselves in times past. There wasn't any doubt that there were likely many who sent applications and resumes trying to be noticed for what was quickly becoming the new face of things to come, to be said to work amongst titans and gods. Yet like any business, its access was protected by a loyal few, selective in their discriminations and final in their decisions.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the press," Darcy Lewis began as she took to the conference room, arriving center stage as she looked upon no less than five dozen affiliates amongst the various news medias that spanned the world, from print to television to internet. "Thank you for coming here today on such short notice. We'll make this quick so that you can return to your stations and places of work as I have no doubt this will certainly make the evening news." That generally went without saying; when a press conference was held at Stark Tower, _everyone_ tuned in. "Earlier today, Jennifer Walters was contacted with the official Supreme Court ruling in regards to _Koepp vs. Trapp_, and received the full summary of said ruling. Tomorrow, we will have a full comprehensive report summarized for public viewing upon the Avengers' website for any and all who are interested in reading the itemized report or the whole thing if you're inclined. But for now, we would like for the public to know what that ruling was.

"I give you Jennifer Walters." Darcy said into the microphone as the clicking of digital cameras tripled as digital video was shot as Miss Lewis moved to the left of the state as Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq. (CEO, Avengers) moved in from the right to take over the podium, dressed in her usual professional business suit that was somber in colors and fitted. She took to the front of the press conference holding a thick manila folder in her hands as she set it down on the glass top podium with her eyes on the press corps in front of her.

"Good afternoon, and thank you for being here." Jennifer began as shots were taken but voices withheld. "I will go over a quick brief and review of the ruling of _Koepp vs. Trapp_ delivered to me by the Supreme Court so that people will know the official judgment. As Miss Lewis explained, we will upload it tomorrow so that any and all may read upon it, as well as links for easier comprehension and understanding for those who are not familiar with legal academia. I will start by saying that this ruling will affect every hospital, business, man, woman, and child in New York City. So if you are interested how this pertains to you, you will know how and why." A few shouts of _Miss Walters!_ came from the press, but the lawyer held up her hands to indicate that questions would be held for the moment.

"A month ago today," Jennifer began, "District Attorney Eric Schneiderman of the New York State District Attorney's Office contacted me because he had fought for and lost four times trying to get the people of New York City what they were properly entitled. He gave me authorization to take the case of _Koepp vs. Trapp_ to the highest judicial authority in America, to be tried once more in the name of justice. Knowing what I know now, I would like to acknowledge the fine and valiant efforts of DA Schneiderman and his office for their efforts. They did not fail you, New York." The sound of digital cameras increased temporarily. "A month ago, I made a promise, a big one. Given authorization to take the case, I made a public promise that I would do everything in my power to reverse the ruling of _Koepp vs. Trapp_, that I would get those who had suffered in the Battle of New York the fair and deserved compensation that they so desperately needed. I did not make this promise lightly, nor did I do it for publicity. I wanted every man, woman, and child affected by the Chitauri to know that we of _Avengers, Incorporated_ stood for them during the Battle and would continue to do so. I wanted to be held accountable by those who hold the real power in America, the people, that I would be a woman of my word.

"And in my hand," Jennifer held up the file for all to see, "I have that proof right here."

The Chief Executive Officer of _Avengers, Incorporated_ pulled from the file a single sheet with a list of bullets.

"In my hand," she continued, "will be the actions conducted against the insurance companies that conspired against the contracts and policies in which they had authorized from the many holders of New York City. The United States Government, mainly the IRS, have been legally authorized to conduct normal operations for those companies in questions, to review and dispense proper and accountable claims as per normal. All medical, business, building, structure, personal damages, auto, renters, and life insurance claims will be processed swiftly and accurately as should be. No forfeitures or additional interests will be added to any bills considered past due, and all those that had been already charged as such or proper claims denied since May Eleventh due to business negligence or improper denial of coverage will be immediately reversed and fully considered. Any denials, lack of authorizations, denial of referrals, supposed contractual lack of coverage, or gross negligence upon the companies in question will be reversed and fully considered. Any persons that were acknowledged not to have any coverage at the time of the Attack will be covered by the New York State's voted and approved Sate of Emergency Act, in which the insurance companies will reimburse the State of New York for the use of proper taxpayer funds. Any future claims that can be proved to pertaining to the Battle or subsequent damages not immediately acknowledged but proved in the future will also be covered by these clauses such in the event of unknown toxicity issues or other health problems found to be involved due to otherworldly forces and technology that we do not know of at this time." Jennifer looked up to the press in front of her, all of them silent. Yet that silence was broken by her grin before being broken by her words. "In other words?

"New York, we _won_."

There were a dozen shouted questions leading with _Miss Walters!_, but they were easily drowned by the growing, drowning applause that swamped the conference room, men and women standing to their feet in ovation. This was allowed for several seconds before Jennifer finally raised her hands up for silence.

"I would like to point out to one and all," the CEO continued, "that many in the insurance industry was not in the know, and many resisted the course of action that led to the mass denial of claims, more than a few people losing their jobs because they saw a great wrong being performed. Per the Supreme Court, any and all who were terminated from their jobs pertaining to those who were willing to perform their proper duties in the insurance industry will be immediately rehired with no loss of benefits or salary, and will be compensated for loss of pay. So for those of you who were adjusters, underwriters, policy writers, auditors, and reviewers who were fired for standing up for the people? You got your jobs back and some back pay." There was light applause for that as well. "There were men and women who were _not_ complicit to this, New York, and they fought against it as you suffered. I know that many of you blame the insurance companies in question, but put the blame where it lies; with the people who enacted it and enforced it. For those of you who did fight to do your jobs right, who lost them because you fought for the right things, I say this; thank you for being someone of worth, someone worth fighting for.

"The last point I will make," Jennifer spoke, "will be in the terms of policy rates. For the foreseeable future, all rates from medical, business, property, auto, and life insurance will be _frozen_ to May Tenth rates with no increases allowed for at least the first three months." There was chatter at that. "Any monies paid by price gouging to cover higher coverage pertaining to the event of the Battle of New York is now deemed Federally _illegal_ and any who paid as such will be fully credited as an overpayment and will be allotted to future payments, and any stipulations or wordings pertaining to anything related to insurance covering said events of May Eleventh will be stricken and removed. Any lawsuits made by the insurance industry pertaining to non-payment, seeking compensation, seeking settlement, or based upon damages of actions covered by the State of Emergency by any agency or volunteer action are now considered null-and-void, and any who were forced into settlement pertaining to such will have their monies restored and any negative actions completely reversed.

"I will have my office email your stations and affiliates the summarized report of the Supreme Court for distribution so that the people will know how it pertains to them," the lawyer informed the press, "but for now, members of the press, please let the people know that today is a good day, a day where we can finally begin to heal. There will likely be minor issues and individual circumstances based on the many claims and the backlog of two months worth of claims and denials, but rest assure, New York; you will be taken care of. For all of those who held onto hope, who waited for this day to come?

"I kept my word."

* * *

"Wait, no no no, that's horseshit."

Major Maria Jacoba Hill was in the middle of a billiards tournament with some of the best shots in the country.

Clinton Francis Barton she knew to be one hell of a shot with more than just a bow, proficient with sniper rifles, throwing objects, and probably a fair deal of other range weaponry for reasons he never explained and admitted she was a little to afraid to ask. So when he offered to play her in a game of 9-Ball where he had three tables to her one, and wagered that he would have less _total_ shots on three tables than she had on _one_, she had rather drunkenly taken the bet. And lost. Miserably. The fucking Hawkeye could break a rack like it was no one's business when he could sink a _third_ of the billiards balls right at the get-go and could generally sink two in with every shot while somehow getting the damn cue ball to be right in that perfect spot on the return. It was Goddamn criminal to see him take a shot and sink _four balls in at once_ like he had been born with a pool stick in his hand. Now she was going to have to wear a pink windbreaker tomorrow for her loss. Fuck.

But now everyone who was celebrating the win over the insurance companies were having a wager against the only man who could possibly beat the Hawkeye.

The man with perfect aim was playing against the man with the perfect bank shot.

Maria couldn't believe her eyes when she saw Clint Barton go against Captain Steven Grant Rogers in a three-table game where there was exactly _one_ cue ball for all three tables. No, it wasn't picked up and delivered to another table. No, one of the men would shoot the ball _onto another fucking table_ and sink a ball in. In fact, they weren't allowed to sink a ball on a table the cue ball initially landed upon, popping a table with every shot. There were twenty people who were watching the game, probably a dozen or so separate wagers that weren't between Steve and Clint (which that wager had a rather interesting victory clause to it). Seriously, it was like watching to Chessmasters playing one another but at pool. One would simply walk to the table and shoot within a second or two with grace and skill, popping the cue ball from either a bank or a ball and landing it on a table to knock another ball in. It was thoroughly disgusting. She had been amazed that Steve hit a bank and sent the cue ball flying _backwards_ to another table to strike both the three ball and the six ball in. She had watched the damn thing _curve_ around the eleven ball in mid-roll! How the fuck did that happen!

"Perhaps we should get them drunk and blindfold them." Jennifer Walters told the SHIELD Liaison, sipping at a glass of wine on the main level where a large room had been converted into a lounge, complete with a full-sized bar, couches, tables, televisions, music, and a few choice items for entertainment. "Maybe put teams where the other person's job is to make a hash of it?"

"Then don't pick Nat. She's scary good, too." Maria advised, which actually didn't surprise the lawyer at all. She always kind of wondered about Steve's legendary skills throwing his shield about, and wondered if he had been talented before the Super Soldier Serum and _Project: Rebirth_ or if the experiment gave him peak human capabilities in that, too. The Agent had a pretty good idea that something similar had been done to Natasha Romanoff, though she had never asked and Nat had never offered. She saw Jenn look over the room, the Team Mom in her making sure that everyone was having a good time. The Drew girls and Kamala Khan were absorbed in a multiplayer video game, Doctor Erik Selvig, Doctor Jane Foster, Doctor Bruce Banner, and Doctor Hank Pym were in a discussion that would likely solve time travel or light-speed transportation in the next hour or two, Darcy Lewis and Hope Van Dyne were sharing cocktails and some discourse on business, Tony Stark and Virgina 'Pepper' Potts were semi-cuddling on a couch, Natasha was egging Clint whenever he was about to make a shot, making rather suggestive comments to throw the archer off his game, while Harold 'Happy' Hogan was content with sitting on a couch and reading a paperback book.

"You know, we never have things like this at SHIELD." Hill thought out loud, probably helped by the fact that she was on her fourth Scotch on the Rocks. Or was she on her fifth? "You get back with a success, it's a debrief, a report, a review, and chances are someone who will find something to gripe about when they've never left an office. Seems like you guys throw a party every other week or so."

"Actually, I learned that from my Dad." Walters said, nodding her head. "He encouraged his Deputies to mingle with each other outside of work as well as at work. Family barbecues, little 'attaboy' trips to Big Bear or Silver Valley Lakes, something that got them out of work but also with people that they could be with and really let their hair down. I mean, who hangs out with cops?" Maria admitted that was a point. "There'd be some friendly competition things too between the SanBer Sheriff's, the SanBer Police, and the SanBer Fire Department, basketball games and whatnot for charity and just to rub it in a little."

"I'm trying to see Tony Stark playing basketball outside of an Iron Man suit." Hill admitted, making Jenn shake her head and smile. "Can you imagine a three-on-three basketball game with the Avengers? That would be utterly ridiculous." She watched as Clint took a shot where the cue ball popped from one table to the next, landing somewhere in between two striped balls and sinking them both into two separate pockets.

"Okay, maybe not so utterly ridiculous." Maria muttered as she took another sip of her Scotch

* * *

**LaGuardia International Airport, New York City, New York, July 13, 2012**

Jennifer Walters, Esq. stood in the Departure Terminal of LaGuardia Airport before the massive lines that led to the banks of metal detectors and 'hazardous substances' detectors that was the security checkpoint that would lead to the Concourses further on for those who would be leaving on planes as she found herself experiencing for the second time the aching pain that was goodbye. It was that point in time in every parents' life that one wished never happened, not really, seeing their child finally packed up and ready to go into the next adventure in their lives no matter what it might be. She wanted to turn back time, to beg, to hold on and never let go. Time, that ever-cruel constant, had continued on despite it all.

Jessica Miriam Drew was moving on.

"God I'm going to miss you." Jennifer held onto her oldest daughter with a fierceness as she hugged Jessica fully, not a few second hug that was polite for public. No, her arms were wrapped fully around the nineteen-year old woman and Jenn held onto as tightly as she would a life preserver in a flash flood. It was all she could do not to pick up her daughter on the spot and whisk her away. Holding onto her, all she could think about was that little seven-year old girl in pigtails that had completely stolen her heart with a smile, a girl devoid of a maternal figure and desperate to have one in her life. Jennifer had absolutely _loved_ being a mother to her three girls, finding real joy in having them in her life, the satisfaction that a parent had seeing them grow up slowly and surely into the people they would become. When Jessica had left for college, it had been hard, but the lawyer had rationalized it as _college_; of course her oldest would be back for summers and breaks and when it was all over. But this wasn't college. There would be no _summers_ and _breaks_ and _when it was all overs_. Jessica was moving forward in her _adult_ life.

She was going to the CIA to become an intelligence agent.

"I know." Jessica's voice was just as weak as hers, near tears yet doing her best to stay strong. Elizabeth Drew had practically bawled at the thought of being without the sister she had her entire life, a woman four years older who had always looked out after her. Sarah hadn't fared much better, sob-choked words spoken in whispers as Jessica and Sarah shared final words. This day promised to be a hard one; a day of goodbyes. No more weekends of adventures, no more vacations spent at Southern California beaches, no more late-night phone call sessions hosting conversations of middle school or high school drama, and of course, boys. _It wasn't enough!_, the little voice inside of Jenn demanded from that great thief Time, that mothers' plea that all women had when their children finally flew from the coup, to spread their wings and fly. _I want my little girl back!_, that voice begged to the indifferent chronometer that eventually took one and all, no matter what or whom. Jenn wanted to break down and cry in front of strangers regardless, but for Jessica, she held it together.

"I'm proud of you, Jessica. Always have been, but today more so." It took everything she had to slowly release that hug, to let Jessica go, her eyes too moist and her heart too fragile. "But now is the day you make yourself proud, okay?" Jennifer offered her one last piece of advice, given from mother to daughter, what her own mother Elaine Walters had given her when _Jenn_ had flown that coup to take a job at the Law Office of Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway in Los Angeles. Now she knew how her own mother felt that day, remembering the same words and giving them to her own daughter. "I love you, Jessica. I always will." Jenn smiled an oh so fragile smile as she looked into Jessica's green eyes, seeing that same fragility. There was no need to explain what the other felt; they both knew.

"I love you too, Mom." Oh God, that did it. Jennifer watched on as that woman she had helped raised and molded picked up her carry-on bags and headed to the ridiculously long security line. Tears were cascading down her cheeks as she watched on, Sarah holding onto her on her left and Libby on her right, the seventeen-year old and fifteen-year old holding onto their mother as if they were seven and five. _I always knew this day would come but… no, not this day! Any other day but this one!_ That voice wasn't helping, unreasonable and selfish, seeing that girl in pigtails whose laugh was a balm to the soul and spent hours prancing around in dresses. She so desperately wanted that little girl back.

_But look at her now,_ Jennifer thought to herself as she saw Jessica Drew standing in that line, a carry-on slung over her shoulder, ready for her _first_ real adventure. _I did that, I help turn that little girl into a woman, a woman who proved herself to others in the right way. She got a scholarship to college. She was accepted to Berkley. And until she got that offer, she was getting great grades and excited to see where life would take her. _Jenn held onto her daughters just as fiercely as she had Jessica, that flash flood of emotion ready to sweep her away. _Now look at her. CIA wouldn't be what I would have chosen for her, but no one can deny the prestige and quality that they demand and beget. I… I helped make that, that next generation that will continue on._ Jennifer blinked back at her tears, that dam holding it back in cracking and crumbling. _God, just… let me get out of the airport before I'm a sobbing wreck on the floor where the janitor needs a mop to clean me off._

The walk back to the awaiting car in the Departure lane was done in a daze as three women held onto each other like a band of defeated soldiers still dazed from a loss as Natasha Romanoff waited patiently at the side of the black2011 Cadillac Escalade, the Black Widow's eyes seeing their faces as they approached the Sports Utility Vehicle. Without a word, Nat opened the back passenger door and didn't make a move to open any other; only one would be needed. Libby and Sarah slide into the back seat as Jenn prepared herself to climb in.

"I think you're going to need a heart as strong as Cap's shield to survive what's coming next, Nat." Jenn whispered, that dam ready to give. "But thank you."

"It's worth it." The redhead replied with a nod as she gestured for Jenn to get in. The lawyer took in a shaking breath as she slid into the SUV, taking the middle seat as she slipped her arms around her daughters, Libby and Sarah immediately pulling in closer as Jenn felt that dam give as she held onto her remaining daughters.

And burst into tears.

* * *

_FINE: ARC III - Some Assembly Required_

* * *

**ARC IV: In The Season Of Wither**

**Unofficial Designation: "The Farm", Camp Peary, Virginia, July 15, 2012**

Jessica Miriam Drew felt herself rather apprehensive as she entered into a military base that wasn't open to the public, its location known but its contents never divulged. The nineteen-year old woman had been sent along with several others to the front gate before going through a screening process to make sure that everyone was whom they said they were, didn't bring anything that they weren't suppose to, and reiterate the rules that made complete sense with such a location whose purpose was the training of covert and clandestine agents of several different agencies in the United States. It had never been officially acknowledged, and the personnel inside never revealed. It was a physical location that was both a black hole of information and a death sentence for any that tried to get inside without proper access. It was there that intelligence agents were crafted in a version of Basic Training or Boot Camp, to test and train, to mold and make. It was here that spies were trained.

Most just called it 'the Farm'.

Orientation ended up being in a nondescript building surrounded by other nondescript buildings of the same size and manufacture, only identified by the numbers on their sides. Fifty people of ages ranging from her own to their late-20's sat at tables with no discernible order as Jessica took to an available seat that had a young woman around her own age next to it that looked affable enough. The woman looked to be around her age, cute in a pixie sort of way, a bit shorter in height with short auburn hair and a plain no-print dark blue t-shirt with jeans that was obviously meant to be more utilitarian for whatever might be needed.

"Us girls should team up." Jessica offered her new neighbor as she took to the chair, sitting in on an obviously classroom-like environment where long tables had been sat with chairs only on one side, facing the front that was devoid of any teacher or director. "Last thing I really want is to sit down next to a guy and be immediately flirted with as if that were my purpose here."

"Yeah, well when womankind has the likes of Snooki and JWoww representin', we got a lot of ground to recover." The auburn-haired woman replied with a bit of a mirthful tone as Jessica chuckled at the _Jersey Shore_ references. To think she actually liked that show when it first came out! "Ugh, I knew summers in the South were hot, but we can't get some A/C in here? We've got A/C in Michigan but not in Virginia?" Jessica's neighbor fanned herself by taking the collar of her shirt and flapping it back and forth for air flow. It was rather muggy, Jessica admitted.

"One thing nice about SoCal is that the heat's always the same, and you get the ocean breeze all the time." There was generally only a twenty-five degree difference between summer and winter for Southern California. One good winter anywhere else would turn her into an ice cube. Jessica had never actually seen snow before outside of a movie or TV show. "New York was pretty hot when I left."

"Wow, SoCal and New York. Lots of traveling." Her neighbor wiggled her eyebrows up. "Job change? Parents?"

"Dad lives in San Bernardino, Mom did until a few months ago when she got a big job opportunity and moved to New York." Jessica decided the sanitized version would be the best way to go. The last thing she needed to do was blurt out _my Mom is an Avenger_ to a bunch of strangers. "Did a two month stint in Berkeley on a Fine Arts scholarship for photography. Got out on good behavior."

"That makes sense." The other woman nodded. "Lived in Ann Arbor my whole life, and went Wolverine." Ah, that was the University of Michigan. "You'd probably never guess it, but I'm actually a Doctor in Veterinarian Medicine. Just graduated when I got this _really weird_ job offer." That had Jessica chuckle.

"So you actually can hand out horse pills?" The young woman couldn't help herself as she snarked on that a little, getting the other woman to roll her blue eyes but smile at the same time. "I must warn you, I had to endure the King of Trolls for a month or so. One of my Mom's coworkers has a _very_ sharp wit. Thick skin applies."

"Oh look, the spy who _amused_ me." The Doctor fired right back, making Jessica laugh almost out loud. Oh she would have to remember that one!

"I have a feeling we just became friends." Drew told her table neighbor, holding out a hand to shake. "Jessica Drew."

"_You're-doing-it-wronggggg…_" The other woman sing-songed as she took Jessica's hand to shake. "It's Drew, Jessica Drew." The woman replied in the more famous tagline involving a British MI6 Agent. "Can't do that myself; I have a title in my name and that makes it weird any way but forward. And I didn't go to college for eight year to be called _Misses_." Oh, Jessica had most definitely found a friend as she laughed at the _Austin Powers_ reference. "But it's Doreen." The woman finally introduced herself.

"Doctor Doreen Green."

* * *

Author's Notes: I wanted to make the Lawsuit/Supreme Court win more than just a 'we won' thing and introduced a few legal things that make it sound more comprehensive, as such decisions tend to be. Insurance companies don't usually just pass out money, and I remember the fraud cases pertaining to both 9/11 and Katrina. I mention one several chapters ago with life insurance fraud (a man who claimed his wife died in one of the towers when she was alive and well in Georgia), and I'm sure there were hundreds of others that didn't get public scrutiny. Sadly, insurance companies are in the right to investigate all claims, no matter how obvious they are and a pain in the ass it happens to be. And technically Jenn beat the Avenger lawsuits initiated by the insurance companies, the Supreme Court ruling stating that those would be null-and-void.

The concept of the '_man with the perfect aim against the man with the perfect bank shot_' goes to a fan of mine, **zmanjz**, who wanted a little more from when I first mentioned it in '_The Legal Has Landed, V_'. Yep, fan service.

Yes, I referenced _Jersey Shore_, as it was still on the air back in 2012. I'm so sorry, I really am. I _NEVER_ watched that show.

Doreen Green? Yes yes yes, Marvel Comic (and cartoon) fans; _that_ Doreen Green. AKA… the Unbeatable Squirrel Girl. No, she isn't a mutant who was abandoned by her asshole parents to a forest. She will be needed later on. Stay tuned for more!


	16. In The Season Of Wither, I

_Really, Disney owns just about everything. _

**World Trade Center Plaza, 180 Greenwich Street, New York City, New York, September 11, 2012**

_+4 months after the Battle of New York, 11 years post-9/11_

Author's Notes: I will talk a little about the post-9/11 memorial, which wasn't fully completed when I visited it in 2010. While I don't actually know what is involved in the anniversary of 9/11 in NYC, I assume something similar to this occurs.

And then we get into the rough stuff for the first time in this story. I'm pulling out a monster just… for… _**you**_. Like my stories from Mass Effect, they will follow the pattern of the five paragraphs of an OpOrder, and then it will be like a five-part novel. This isn't a _show up and punch someone in the face_ mission. No, this is a paramilitary _strike_ mission.

Knuckle up. It's time to assemble.

* * *

As it had been so every year in New York, September Eleventh was a somber celebration in which from 8:46 a.m. to 10:28 a.m., the City That Never Sleeps went quiet _in memoriam_ in remembrance for those who had died and been injured on that horrific day. Traffic went to a near standstill as businesses and shops slowed to a crawl as people would gather together to remember a day in which all suffered a tragedy unlike any the world had ever seen, remembering where they had been and who they might have lost. The largest congregation of people was at the World Trade Center Plaza where Towers One and Two once stood, the National 9/11 Memorial having been completed and opened to the public the year before while the Museum was still under construction, the two reflecting pools that stood where the Towers once had now filled with thousands who held their annual vigil for a day none of them would ever forget. New Yorkers and visitors from around the world stood amongst the swamp white oaks planted in the plaza, many visiting the site and its offerings such as the two recessed pools that represented where Towers One and Two once stood, as well as the Survivor Tree, a callery pear tree that had been heavily damaged during that day with only one living branch, replanted and seen to as a symbol of life and survival.

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., (CEO, Avengers), stood amongst those who came to pay their respects and honor the fallen alongside her cousin, Doctor Robert Bruce Banner.

Jennifer was there anonymously, where there was a small platform for those who would give speeches for the day, a few survivors, family members, and others involved with the clean-up and reconstruction who would lead the moment of silence that was marked at 9:59 a.m.; when the South Tower fell. Thousands were in attendance, many bringing tokens and mementos to place upon the swamp white oaks or along the reflecting pools, small keepsakes and ribbons brought to commemorate. _Avengers, Incorporated_ had purchased two thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-six wreaths for the public, freely distributed for those who wished to hang one for the victims of that terrible day. Jenn herself came with a bouquet of roses that she had laid at the trunk of the Survivor Tree, for those who had lived afterwards in honor of their strength and the losses they endured. For a city that had survived _two_ terrible events, the lawyer fully admitted to herself that New York City had to be the toughest city on the planet with residence that undoubtedly had the strongest resolve.

"I can't even imagine it." Bruce said softly as he stood next to her as the moment of silence approached, Jenn's arm wrapped around her cousins' as they saw a small procession of firefighters of the FDNY laying helmets upon the lip of one of the reflecting pools, three hundred and forty-three to represent the responders of the various Ladders that had lost their lives in the performance of their jobs. "I still remember those first broadcasts, just being… stumped, horrified."

"Me too." Jenn remembered well where she was and what she was doing that day. Being on the West Coast, the first crash had happened at 5:46 a.m., when Jenn had been at a Bailey's Total Fitness doing her morning treadmill routine before heading to work at the Law Office of Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, and Holliway. She had been jogging on the treadmill for her routine calisthenics watching the early morning news when the CNN Special Report had come on showing the images of the North Tower on fire. Not even twenty minutes later, she and the rest of the world watched in horror as a second plane crashed into the South Tower as the news filmed the first event when the second one occurred right before their very eyes. That had been a very scary day for America, people fearful of the thought of commercial airplanes used as weapons. Those had been very trying days, a twenty-one year old Jennifer Walters watching a terrifying history in the making.

She didn't needed to be reminded that it had been four months since the Battle of New York; she knew all too well.

"Thank you for coming here with me." The Doctor told her softly as Bruce looked to the throngs of people in the Memorial, standing amongst them with everyone none-the-wiser of who or what he was. The public wasn't aware of the Incredible Hulk's human identity, and no one amongst the Avengers or SHIELD was interested in having anyone find out for all the best reasons in the world. Thankfully, the very few people outside of Stark Tower that did know that Doctor Bruce Banner and the Incredible Hulk were one of the same were being smartly silent as well. The biggest name was Major General Thaddeus 'Thunderbolt' Ross; the man ultimately responsible for the Hulk's creation as well as twelve Hulk incidences. Despite hunting her cousin for years, Ross had never released the identity of the Hulk or connected Banner to the Hulk either, likely assuming that if anyone knew, _they_ would be doing the same to take the Hulk away from Ross's greedy hands. The former Army General who was the Vice Secretary of State was no doubt seething at the knowledge that Banner was safely sequestered in Stark Tower, completely hands off. Then again, he was also responsible for the creation of the Abomination, Emil Blonsky kept in a cryogenic state in Barrow, Alaska.

"You fought for these people, Bruce. You have a right to see your efforts." Jenn knew why her cousin asked her to come with him for the anniversary. Both Bruce and the Hulk had fought for New York during the Chitauri Invasion, saving lives of people that undoubtedly were in the very crowd he stood in. It was a chance for him to see the good efforts that he put in, a reward for the control he maintained. She was very proud of him, and he deserved the honor of knowing that even if he wouldn't be recognized for it. "I'm glad you got out for a little bit. I understand while you sequester yourself up there, but being cooped up too long and you'll go stir-crazy. You know I'm here for you." Neither one of then needed to say why Bruce had asked the only person to have ever survived the Hulk four times to accompany him. "Proud of you, Bruce. I really am." The burden he carried was enormous, and it was a testament to her cousins' resolve on how well he managed that it looked like rote when Jenn knew it was anything but.

"I'm proud of you too, Jenn. Look at all you've done for us, both inside and outside the Tower." The Doctor replied, gesturing to the people around them, oblivious to the two people standing amongst them. "Most of the medical and business insurance claims have been paid out, Midtown cleanup is near an end and reconstruction can finally begin. People are looking to you with hope, they see one of their own fighting for them. That's a good thing." Jenn looked to her cousin as he looked to the podium where a woman spoke of that day eleven years before, when a city had been united in heroism and grief. "I wanted to give these people a symbol they could follow when I agreed to recreate what Doctor Erkstein did back in the Forties, to give them something to hold themselves to, a standard to look up to. I didn't want Super Soldiers or killing machines; I wanted an icon that could the lead the way for us. A man or woman for the people, not another puppet of the government or popularity. Someone with a gold heart and a strong soul; something that doesn't come out of a lab or a bottle.

"And that's been you."

"Bruce…" Jenn smiled as she rested her head upon her cousin's shoulder, having to stoop slightly to do so for his shorter height. "I do try. It's hard as hell, but it's worth it."

"Yes it is." Bruce replied as he leaned his own head against hers as the moment of silence began, the both of them holding hands as the remembered a tragedy that would make them all that much stronger.

And the both of them knew that there were no promises that more days like that wouldn't come once more as the crowd fell silent on 9:59 a.m. to remember a day of tragedy.

* * *

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, September 16, 2012**

_[All deployment team personnel, report to the situation room at this time]_ JARVIS' British-accented voice called throughout the entirety of the Stark Tower Penthouse, soft yet assured as his electronic words reached every person in the top ten floors of Stark Tower. _[All deployment team personnel, report to the situation room at this time]_

It had been the first time such a call had been given. But everyone knew what it meant.

Assembly had been called.

The situation room was really nothing more than just a conference room save that it had a fair deal more of Stark Industries' Haptic holographic technology installed for review of videos, information, multiple viewpoints, blueprint expansion, wire-frame graphics, schematic upload, and anything needed in regards to a mission. The room was not much more than a table with several comfortable chairs surrounding it, in front of a small glass-top podium. Anyone else who would look at it would assume it was for presentations or meetings. In a way, they were right.

It was here that the Avengers would be briefed upon missions.

The room was filled with the necessary personnel fifteen minutes later, five Avengers, five support personnel, and three non-members present. Everyone was at a chair save one, who was at the podium. The lights to the room were dimmed halfway as Jennifer Walters stood at the podium, dressed conservatively, waiting for everyone to get situated. There were a few curious glances to the guests, two of them an older couple with gray in their hair while one was a younger woman, perhaps mid-twenties, with raven black hair and wearing a leather jacket, looking slightly uncomfortable in such august company.

"Good afternoon, Avengers and visitors." Jenn addressed the room, nodding to the three guests. "I've brought you all here today to bring upon the approval or denial of a potential mission." She tapped something on the glass podium as a holographic projection appeared before her showing the picture of a man in his mid-thirties. He was potentially a ruggedly-handsome man with a full head of brown hair and less than a weeks' worth of stubble upon his cheeks and chin. Cool brown eyes gazed away from the photographer, and by the slight blur around him, it was easy to tell that the snapshot had been taken by a telephoto lens; not unusual for potential threats. "Due to previous dealings with the Federal Government of Germany, I was able to secure innocent verdicts for several persons pertaining to the use of mind control of what we call Loki's Scepter thanks to videographic evidence to its use in locations in America." Jenn's eyes briefly looked around the room.

"I mention this for two reasons." Jenn continued. "First being is that when dealing with Germany, I was more or less pressured to give them a promise of a future favor in order to secure those verdicts without a great deal of fanfare despite that many of the persons who were subjected to Loki's mind control were Germans themselves, several of them police officers and government agents. The second point is that Germany has called in to cash in that favor once I detailed them the same standards that I would give the American Government and any agency pertained to it," it was a nice was of saying SHIELD without saying SHIELD to those who weren't authorized to know about it, "and they were able to secure the necessary paperwork and authorizations. We have evidence, photographs, witness testimonies, and at least circumstantial proof that the German authorities were able to gather.

"Along with the evidence gathered and delivered by the German government," the lawyer continued with the briefing, "the Division was able to locate three persons who can also collaborate with personal eyewitness testimony. If any of you have any questions pertaining to the evidence or the testimonies, this will be the time to bring it up before we vote. Are there any questions?" Jenn noticed that the visiting young woman shifted in her seat slightly, which the lawyer got. Still, this was their first real run pertaining to working as a team with how she had set up _Avengers, Incorporated_. Everything was being recorded in case anything ever came up in court. If the vote was decided to move forward, the German Government had already acceded authorization to act.

"Without further ado, let me introduce you to Kevin Thompson." Jennifer Walters said as she turned to the picture of the man she had brought up holographically.

"He likes to call himself Kilgrave."

* * *

Colonel James Rupert 'Rhodey' Rhodes sat in the Avengers' situation room, having been contacted by Jennifer Walters the previous day pertaining to a possible mission. On paper, he was a reserve member for the Avengers, as he was still with the United States Air Force and having him a part of both organizations at the same time would be a conflict of interest. Actually, that was true either way; the Military wouldn't exactly be crazy with him being affiliated with another organization as well. Still, ever since Tony built the first Iron Man suit, his life had taken a certain turn for the strange. Sad part was, he was getting use to it. A few years doing interceptor strikes for the US Government and a couple of incidences involving Tony had him generally ready for the strange and weird.

This mission? Certainly par for course. It wasn't aliens at least, but it was a close second.

"Three months ago," Jennifer Walters continued with the briefing, "Kevin Thompson was recognized by Division assets as having entered into Berlin, and notified the necessary government personnel of his existence, bio data, and abilities. Unfortunately, the authorities took the implications a little less than seriously and…" the image of the man flickered to someone who had killed themselves with a pistol, the photograph an official one. The man was in what appeared to be a police uniform if the dark blue coloring and style were any determination. "_Polizei_ _Offizier_ Hans Goering is the first victim we know of in Germany thanks to a body cam that he wore pulling over a speeding motorist not on an Autobahn to cite the man. The man in question told the Officer to pull his pistol out to shoot and kill himself, which he promptly did." The image went to a small video clip where the man in a brand-new black 2012 Mercedes Benz S-Class Luxury Sedan smiled at the Police Officer and spoke in German to the addressing officer. Two seconds later, the body cam showed only a portion of the act in which _Offizier_ Goering drew out his own pistol and a close gunshot was heard, the view going from the driver of the expensive German-made vehicle to the sky where one could hear an automobile driving off in a rapid manner.

"Jesus Christ." Captain Steven Grant Rogers commented slightly. "Just like that?"

"Yes." That was one of the visitors, James noted. The younger one of the three, who looked a bit uncomfortable at answering.

"There was no device or vector involved?" Natasha Alianovna Romanoff asked, having watched the video clip like everyone else.

"To that, I give you Doctors Albert and Louise Thompson." Jennifer looked over to the two older persons who were in the same room, obviously a husband and wife by the way they sat next to one another with familiarity. _Parents_, Rhodes thought immediately, noting the last name was the same as the perpetrator. He had a sinking feeling why they were here. The couple stood up from their chairs and moved to the front of the room, and the Colonel noted that the woman had an old burn mark on the left side of her face, going from chin to cheek and in the shape… of a clothes iron?

Pieces were coming together in his mind, and the pilot knew he was about to hear the story of something the Avengers were trying to prevent; human experimentation.

"I wish I could say that it is good to be here, considering." The older man began, his accent British. "I am Doctor Albert Thompson, a Biologist who specializes in Virology. My wife is Doctor Louise Thompson, who is a Medical Doctor that specializes in Neurology." Rhodey noted that they were both heavy hitters in the biologies, not mere general practitioners or chemists. These were specialists in pretty damn cutting-edge fields. "Kevin… is our son." That took guts to go up to a group of strangers that happened to be a room full of superheroes and admit that one's child might just be the very thing they were trying to prevent from happening. "Miss Walters told us of your mission about illegal scientific experimentation and testing, and… while I don't believe we qualify, we understand why it concerns you."

"Then explain." That was Doctor Henry Johnathan 'Hank' Pym, who had the most amount of experience about such things amongst all of them. They had all learned about the Ant-Man and his efforts against Soviet Russia and various other Warsaw Pact-countries back in the Seventies and Eighties. Hank had fought against some of the very same things the Avengers stood against, and the man was a brilliant physicist in his own right on top of that.

"Our son was diagnosed with a very rare neurological degenerative condition when he was a young boy." Doctor Louise Thompson began, the voice of a mother who was both pleading for her son's life but also hoping to be made understood that _they_ hadn't intended for things to come out this way. "Only seven known cases were known to exist, and none had survived to their tenth birthday. I… had complications with labor, and couldn't have any more children." Damn, that was a hard blow, James thought. When it was ones' own child, parents got a little crazy and desperate. When one couldn't have any more? Double that. "Our specialties made us think that Kevin stood a best chance at us finding _anything_ that could halt or reverse the process. When he was five, he was already beginning to regress; language skills at first, and then socialization skills. When he was seven, he was in diapers, and…" The older woman stopped, obviously remembering such harrowing times. Yeah, two brilliant Doctors watching their one and only child falling apart meant _desperation_ and _caution to the wind_ went into play. He couldn't blame them. Not really. "For two years, we worked on various remedies and inoculations to stave off the progress, anything to prevent him from regressing even further. Those were… trying times."

"The experience was traumatizing for him." Albert admitted, his voice laden with guilt. "We converted a room in our home into a miniaturized health care facility, and we didn't have anything to practice or test on. There were no other patients, and nothing we did would work on any test animals. Anything that we had that promised results… we administered to Kevin directly." _Oh God_, this was like a nightmare come true. God, he couldn't blame them; they did that enough on themselves that his judgment wouldn't affect a thing. But still… it was horrifying to think.

"Blood samples? Tissue samples? Fluid samples?" Doctor Robert Bruce Banner asked, the only one in the room with true expertize in human experimentation as well as real medical experience. Rhodey wondered what other fluids one used besides blood for testing. Surprisingly, Bruce was very calm.

"Spinal fluid, cerebral fluid, biopsies, anything neurological that we could test." The father admitted, his tone saying it all. They knew what they were doing, they knew it wouldn't be smiled upon, but they did it anyhow. Spinal taps hurt like a motherfucker as he understood it, but cerebral fluid? That was the fluid of the brain! How the fuck did someone stick a needle into the skull of their own son to extract fluids? And biopsies were small slivers of flesh extracted from the body, and their son had been _alive_ while they had done it. Well, they did it with cancer patients for the same reasons, but at least cancer patients knew about it. A personal surgical room in their own home meant that Doctors Thompson had no oversight or panel to answer to or bounce ideas off of. No ethics, no rules… no stopgap. This was the very thing that most of the people in the room feared, and that fear was becoming reality. "After two years of on-and-off successes and failures, we found evidence that the neurological condition was not only regressing, but _reversing_." There was pride in that tone; parents had thwarted fate and beaten the odds. "Within a year, Kevin had returned to the mental level of a five-year old. By the time he was nine, you couldn't distinguish him from any other peer his age. We… we had succeeded at our dream and gotten our son to be the way he was through retro-viral therapy and genetic modification delivered through viral capsule delivery."

"So how does one go from retro-viral therapy for a neurological degenerative condition to being able to sweet talk a cop into killing himself with just words?" Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark asked, his tone obviously not pleased. Rhodey had known him more than long enough to know what that tone meant; someone had crossed a line badly. Usually that meant a personal visit with whatever current model Iron Man suit he happened to have along with a call to himself. For fun.

"There was an unforeseen side effect to the therapy." Louise replied her tone heartbroken. "We don't know exactly _how_ we did it, but something in our treatment changed Kevin. It wasn't apparent a first, as we were just grateful that our son was making progress. We spoiled him at first, of course, but months after he began to heal we began noticing that we were letting him get away with _too_ much. I'm not even sure he realized it either for some time until one day…" The older woman with the scarred face went silent. It wasn't from lack of admission or guilt, but a painful memory.

"We had a neighborhood boy that was a bit of a bully." Albert continued, his own voice steeped with guilt and sorrow. "One day Thomas was picking on Kevin, and Kevin ordered him to stop, and he did. Then he told the lad to run away and never come back. Thomas ran from that park as if he were on fire and didn't turn back once. He… he ran straight across a busy street without looking once and was hit by an automobile. The lad died right there on the street, the woman who hit him a sobbing wreck. Even then… we didn't connect the pieces. But Kevin began to."

"Our lives turned into a nightmare after that." The mother replied, her eyes shut closed. "Imagine a nine-year old boy capable of getting _everything_ he wanted, always getting his way. We didn't even notice it at first until the demands began to become more exotic, more against our own personal morals." She gestured to the burn mark on her face. "This was him when I initially scolded him over something while I was ironing clothes. He told me to press the iron to my face… and I did. I left it there until he told me to pull it off ten seconds later."

"Goddamn." Major Maria Jacoba Hill shook her head at that. She wasn't the only one.

"In our desperation," Doctor Albert Thompson continued where his wife left off, "we made a bad choice. Things were getting worse with Kevin, but we couldn't stop him. All he would need to be would be to be in the same room, somewhere within earshot, and we couldn't deny him anything. He would push the limits of what he could do; what he was capable of, the range, the length of time. Kevin would _boast_ of his discoveries, proud of himself as his requests and demands grew more selfish, more warped, more diabolical. At the time, the range was perhaps thirty or so feet, and the time limit about four hours. It didn't work over a telephone, even if we had just seen him ten minutes prior and he called us. It had to be his natural voice, and within that range. So… we came up with an escape plan."

"You _abandoned_ your son?" Hope Madeline Van Dyne asked, rather shocked and horrified. James understood what Hope was thinking, but he saw the fear and desperation in the eyes of the two Doctors, locked in a Hell with no cage needed.

"He would always make sure to talk to us before the four hours was up, even waking up in the middle of the night." Albert explained, grief etched in his face. "One evening, he let it go for a little too long, and I made my move for the sake of my wife." The older man looked to the woman in question, having stayed with her through was was undoubtedly the worst torment most could ever imagine, including torture with a clothes iron. "I switched his clock settings just enough, reducing the time by forty-five minutes while he made my wife cook his favorite meal for the eighth time in a row even if we didn't have the ingredients. I then put our alarm for the time before he would be awakened by the new alarm time and hopefully we would be free."

"He would tell us to lay in our beds and not move." Louise explained, and Rhodes noted that the other visitor, the young woman with black hair, involuntarily shuddered. Oh, now he knew why she was here; another survivor. "That would be exactly what would happen, laying in our beds unable to move a muscle. My dear Albert gave us a window of opportunity, and… and we made good on it." The Medical Doctor closed her eyes, the strain easy to tell. "Heaven forgive us, we ran in utter fear of our lives without looking back, taking our Jaguar and leaving everything behind. We were just as elated as we were horrified by what we had done, but… he was our son. We…" The man the world knew as War Machine got it; despite all that had happened, they couldn't bring themselves to harm their son intentionally even if they had done so accidentally.

But their act had unleashed a monster.

* * *

"Everyone, I would like you to meet our next collaborating eyewitness, Jessica Campbell Jones."

The twenty-six year old woman found herself standing up in front of a conference room containing, no bullshit, the _fucking_ Avengers. She saw five of them (no Thor, apparently), along with Colonel Rhodes, the War Machine, and several other faces she didn't know. There was a man who looked to be near his seventies, a woman sitting next to him young enough to be his daughter (might even be), a woman who was an obvious suit, and Kilgrave's parents whom she was learning of for the first time though Kilgrave had certainly mentioned _mummy_ and _daddy_ in terms of seething hatred. She hadn't even known his name until today. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

God she could really use a drink right now. A _lot_ of it, in fact.

"Miss Jones," Jennifer Walters, Avenger-in-Law and badass lawyer extraordinaire, informed the people in the room, "is an unfortunate long-term victim of Mister Thompson, spending some nine months in his personal custody before she enacted an escape plan that ended with him being hit with a city bus." That… was an elegant way of saying she had gotten as lucky as hell and that there happened to be a city bus driving on the road when Kilgrave chased her down the street, striking the monster down. She had honestly thought he had died. It was a fucking city bus doing thirty! "If there is anything you need to know about his abilities, his range, what he can do today, she is likely the foremost expert still alive today."

Whiskey was sounding better and better by the moment. And it sounded good this morning before getting a call from a lawyer.

"Okay, hi." Jessica stammered, realizing she was looking upon Captain _fucking _America (and all of his muscles), the Goddamn Iron Man (in a ridiculously well-made tailored business suit that put to shame anything Kilgrave ever acquired), a man in a tweed jacket she had no idea who he was… (oh God… was that the _Hulk!?_), the Hawkeye, and the Black Widow (she wasn't sure which one of those scared her more). She felt like a puppy dog that had pissed all over the carpets standing in front of them. She was still slightly hungover from the night before, had a headache that only alcohol could cure, and now wishing she had given a shit to at least look a little more presentable. "Um, first? Thanks for saving us from aliens and God knows what else? And I'm really out of my element here." She closed her eyes and tried not to swear or curse or anything.

"It's been five months and I'm still looking over my shoulder. I honestly thought he was dead."

Jessica opened her eyes, seeing every eye on her, none interrupting. No one was accusing her or judging her, and many looked like they wanted to give her a hug. She really wasn't the touchy-feely type, but…

_I love you, Jessica. I would never do anything to hurt you_.

A hand went to her shoulder, and Jessica flinched, almost lashing out and punching at Jennifer Walters before she caught herself. She still heard his voice in her head, and now knowing that Kilgrave had survived getting hit with a bus was so much worse. That terrible voice would echo in her thoughts, making her want to bawl. The alcohol drowned the voice and memories, but there wasn't enough booze in the world to ever completely forget. Miss Walters was looking at her and gave her the slightest of nods as if to say _we're here for you_. She wasn't even sure if they knew that she could do anything. She had been called because she had been seen with Kilgrave so many times as well as _someone_ apparently knowing what he could do. Likely survivor testimony and someone putting the pieces together. The private investigator took a deep breath to try and steady herself. Failed, but she tried.

"I'm not too sure where to start." God this felt like an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting gone bad. "I spent nine months under Kilgrave's complete control. I didn't even know his real name or that he survived being hit by a bus until today. I ran. I ran and I didn't look back. If you want the brief summery of what that was like?

"Imagine the absolute worst fucking nightmare you can imagine and live in it ever minute of every day for nine months straight." Jessica said, wound too tight to control her emotions.

"I met Kilgrave, well, he met me," Jones corrected, "when I stopped three muggers from beating a man up on the street." Shit, she might as well blurted out she was special. A woman taking on three men wasn't on the list of normal activities. "Kilgrave just happened to be there with two women at his side, dressed like they were going to an opera when…" fuck, _fuck_ it, "…when he saw me bodily throw a man about a dozen feet or so into a fence. He knew in an instant…. _what_ I was." There went that cat right out of the fucking bag. Thankfully, no one got into it or asked any questions. Hell, there were six legitimate _special people_ sitting in front of her, and who knew about the others she didn't recognize. Back-up Avengers? "The first words out of his mouth were benign, compliments, really. Then he told me to come to him and completely dismissed the two starlets that were at his side, basically letting them go without a care. I… I never thought about it, how long they must have been enthralled, what he must have done to them. I… I guess I saved them." She really didn't want to go into the whole lame thing that was her failed superhero career or, worse, the crappy costume her sister Trish had made her. Perhaps later, but not now.

"Life under Kilgrave… you can't imagine." Jessica continued, hugging herself for comfort, the jacket never thick enough to warm her from the icy fingers of dread that she remembered. "I was a trophy wife, dressed in expensive designer labels _you_ would see," she nodded to Tony, "going to five-star restaurants, riding in luxury cars, staying at premium hotel suites or high-rise penthouses… the good life." Oh God, she damn near vocally sobbed in front of them, and her eyes were burning up, threatening to roll tears down her face. "I would smile because he would want me to smile, laugh at his jokes because he told a joke, the… what was that old movie where they replaced the women with perfect robots?"

"_The Stepford Wives_." The old man next to the daughter-aged woman replied, his tone saying it all; no one was enjoying this.

"That but worse." Jessica replied. "One time, he thought I wasn't listening to him, so he ordered me to cut off my own ear." She didn't even realize that she was touching the scar behind her left ear. "I was his muscle, his runner, his trophy, his sex slave, his obedient little servant that he had follow him wherever he went and do his bidding. It… it was like being Lucifer's lover or Hitler's girlfriend or some shit, and…" She had to stop, the sobs threatening once more.

"I… I killed someone. With my bare hand," the tears were coming now and oh God why was she doing this?, "but I punched her in the chest and literally broke her heart. She died right then and there in front of me because she dug up…" Jessica found herself looking at the Thompsons, "…she had dug up information about Kilgrave's past. Something he didn't want known." Jessica looked to her hands, not even realizing that she had wiped them clean before she had. "Her… her name was Reva Connors. She had a husband. N-no kids." She wasn't sure if that was a mercy or not, a woman who would never have that chance, but thankfully not leaving a child asking where _mommy_ was. "I could only remember walking away in a daze, so… so _horrified_ at what I had done that… Kilgrave was calling for me but… but I think I was so emotionally distraught that his words wouldn't process as I walked across the street in some lavish Louis Vuitton dress with a mink fur shawl and Helsberg diamond earrings and beauty salon make-up just…" Jessica choked back another sob, "when I heard a horn and the sound of brakes and something getting hit. I… I turned and saw that the bus had _hit_ him, just… laying there crumpled on the ground with limbs and blood and… oh God, I ran. I _fucking_ ran and ran and ran, I didn't even check to see if he was dead." The tears were still coming, but it was too late now, the dam having burst.

"Do you need a minute?" Miss Walters asked, her voice sympathetic.

"I need a fucking drink. A big one." Well, that was a fun thing to blurt out to everyone. Jessica shook off the request, hoping no one would seriously hand her a glass when she would ask for the bottle instead. "What I _need_… is to_ never go back_." The tears had stopped coming, her voice still shook with her grief and terror, but there was no mistaking her tone. "It was bad enough when I thought he was dead. I live in absolute _fear_ of that voice, that polished British accent. Anytime I hear _any_ Englishman talking, I'm running for my life to the nearest bar and drowning myself in cheap whiskey and tears. Knowing he's still alive, that he has some other woman like me in his little life of terror?

"I can't ever face him again, but I need to see him _dead_."

God she could really use that fucking drink right now. It and its nine other brothers that would follow it.

"Kilgrave… is a complete narcissist." Jessica began, telling the Avengers what they needed to know. "Anything he wants, he takes without compunction or regret. _Anything_." She couldn't emphasize it enough. "He feels no guilt or remorse in what he does, and blames his victims for what he does, such as someone insulting him being the cause for Kilgrave to make them chew off their own tongue." She certainly remembered that. "He uses his ability… two to three _dozen_ times a day, anything from minor wants such as not waiting in line or wanting a nice coat, to life-destroying such as having someone empty their entire life savings and giving it to him or… there… was this one guy…" She was trying to be strong. "Kilgrave wanted a chauffeur. So he had some black guy drive us around for two weeks like some servant. And… and _he ordered the man to put his two year old son on the curb and drive away._" Jessica was wiping at her tears. "I remember the look in his eyes… stuck in that seat but crying. I don't know what happened to him… Donald. His name's Donald. Not that Kilgrave ever asked. Called him 'Cabbie'." Jessica hated those memories. "Two weeks, he never knew what happened to his little boy."

"What's his motivation?" That was Captain America.

"Selfishness, complete and utter." Jessica replied, no doubt in her tone. "I've seen him murder men and women with his words, like the video of that German cop. He used NYPD Police Officers to do his dirty work. Me as well. His hands were never dirtied, and he's like King Midas where all he touches turns to gold except it's his words. Anything he wants." Jessica looked to Tony Stark. "Feel like giving him one of your suits? You will." She looked towards Clint and Natasha. "Anything he wants to know, you will tell him. No resistance. I pray you don't have family." She looked to the guy she was pretty sure _was_ the Hulk. "If you are who I think you are? Keep a continent between the two of you. Anything you ever known, anything you've ever loved, anything you've ever held dear or precious or _anything_ in your life will be utterly torn away with the sound of his words and laugh.

"No… remorse… whatsoever."

The hand went back to her shoulder, and Jones saw that Jennifer was touching it again, being there for her.

"So how do we stop a guy like that?" Colonel James Rhodes asked, leaning forward in his seat. Jessica didn't know tactics, but she knew Kilgrave.

"Without words." Jessica offered the best piece of advice possible.

* * *

Author's Note: I know it might seem a little contrite to write about a 9/11 anniversary with little in the way of context for story, but having a story centered in NYC without some mentioning of it seems off. So I have the two family members together on a day where family mattered quite intensely. And I very much remember where I was when I watched the first reports coming in and the sight of the North Tower being struck on live television.

According to Phil Coulson in Agents of SHIELD, Emil Blonsky was held in cryogenic stasis in Barrow, Alaska after the events of _Incredible Hulk_.

Yes, I pretty much just rewrote the first season of _Netflix's_ Jessica Jones. I was never a big fan of her (comic or other) but the show did have a good psychological twist with Kevin Thompson/Purple Man (which I loved David Tennent for). If you're going to pop a baddie, make it a good one. And like Sylar from _Heroes_, this was a bad guy that deems intense plotting for a demise.

Realistically, Jessica was enthralled around 2013-2014, as she was out from Kilgrave's thralldom for about a year when Jessica Jones began in 2015. She was under his influence for about nine months (for all of those who haven't seen the show). I moved the whole thing to the left (earlier) for the purposes of this story. More or less everything else is similar to the show save the time line.

I did add a little to the horror of what Kevin's parents went through, as well as Jessica. The show never explained how Albert and Louise got away but I made something up that seems plausible.

This ARC almost ended up with the name of a** No Doubt** song, "_Don't Speak"_, as a nod to Kilgrave's ability. Instead, I picked it from a line from a **Motley Creu** song, "_Shout At The Devil"._


	17. In The Season Of Wither, II

_Really, Disney owns just about everything. _

**LaGuardia International Airport, New York City, New York, September 21, 2012**

_+5 days after the approval vote to take down Kilgrave_

Jessica Campbell Jones found herself exiting a black nondescript 2012 Chevrolet Impala with tinted windows inside of an airplane hanger that housed a _huge_ military aircraft that looked big enough to carry a tank or two. It was that olive drab green color that the United States Army seemed to use on everything, and even had the white Army Star. Yet its rear ramp was open and was being loaded by people that were _not_ military, not if the windbreakers and suits were any indication. Gear and equipment were being loaded and stowed away, including what appeared to be medical apparatuses.

"That's MATILDA."

The twenty-six year old private investigator turned at the sound of a voice, connecting it to a young Arab woman who was standing a few feet away, dressed like a teenager and wearing a beanie over her long black hair. She had a gray t-shirt that had Captain America's shield printed on the front with a zip-up black hoodie that was undone for the moment. She also had a laptop bag hanging from one shoulder, and two hard-case TuffBoxes at her feet.

"MATILDA?" Jessica asked.

"Mister Stark's idea of a joke." The young woman rolled her eyes, though there was a smile there. "Stands for '_My Aircraft That Is Loaded; Deuces, Avengers_'." That had the investigator snort, shaking her head at the terrible acronym. "Miss Walters dug it up from some elephant graveyard for military airplanes in Arizona or New Mexico, but it's a Boeing C-17 Globemaster III, capable of carrying an M-1 Abrams Battletank, approximately a hundred and fifty hundred soldiers to deployment… or the Avengers." There was a smirk there. "I'm Kamala, by the way. Kamala Khan." The young woman (God, girl really) stuck out her hand to shake.

"Jessica Jones." Jessica shook the hand. "Does your kindergarten class know you skipped recess?" Actually, it was a Saturday, and the girl was somewhere around fourteen to sixteen.

"Did I just post all those nudes with your face Photoshopped in? How silly of me!" The girl pantomimed shock by putting her hands on her cheeks and aping her. Jessica _almost_ laughed at that; girl had a spine. "So I know why I'm here, tech guru and superpower of teenaged internet savvy. You?"

"I'm… expertise." That was all Jones was going to say about it. She didn't think telling some kid that she was a mind-controlled sex slave for most of a year was going to fly. "There's a man in Germany that I know all too well that hit the radar no one wants to be on. If there are any questions, I'm the best possible lead for answers. Plus something about scanning?" Jennifer Susan Walters had notified her of the mission two days prior, offering Jessica a chance to have input and insight leading to the capture of one Kevin Thompson, aka Kilgrave. The CEO of _Avengers, Incorporated_ said she would never have to leave the plane or be within a mile of Thompson, but Jennifer wanted Jessica there for two reasons; the private investigator was the source-matter expert on Kilgrave, and Jennifer wanted Jessica to have the opportunity to see the man taken down for her own peace of mind. Jones was still extremely apprehensive about it, but that opportunity was… her sister Trish had told her to go once Jessica explained it. If there was anyone who understood what Jessica had gone through, it was Patricia Walker, the woman Jessica had ran to once she had gotten free, a sad sobbing wreck of a mess. Trish knew what Jessica feared… and what she needed.

_You need this,_ Trish had told her, holding her hands and smiling at her. _You need to believe in yourself again, and this might be the very step you need into beating those demons you _can't_ punch or fight off._

"Ah! Yes! That's my job, actually." The young woman told her, all smiles. "With your consent, I'm going to do a full body scan of you so we can trap a monster." Jessica frowned at that. "No one told you what I can do?"

"Nope." Wait, they were bringing a teenager into this?

"Well then, let me show you." Kamala opened up one of the cases at her feet to pull out, of all things, a drone. It was a four aerofoil drone that was more a toy of amusement that people were strapping cameras on for scenic shots and scientists slapping instrumentation on for research. Yet this one had… several camera lenses on it, like a dozen or so. Kamala closed the case and set the drone down as she held up her left arm and rolled back her hoodie sleeve to show off what looked to be a large cellphone-like device strapped to her forearm. The young Arab woman tapped it on, brought up a (what the fuck?) holographic projection that she could interact without a touchscreen (!), and the drones' quad propellers began to spin, bringing the device aloft to about chest level. "Miss Marvel? By our powers combined!"

Jessica's jaw dropped as there were _two_ Kamala Khans now standing before her, one wearing a blue long-sleeve t-shirt with a yellow lightning bolt going down the middle.

"_Hi, I'm Kamala!"_ The second one said, right were the drone had been, her voice just like the first one that had introduced herself. _"When I'm not watching my Saturday Morning cartoons, I moonlight as a crimefighter!"_ The second Kamala struck a heroic pose, left hand on her hip as her right arm went up to flex, just like a comic book superhero striking a pose for an issues' cover or perhaps a movie poster. Jessica looked to the first one, who was grinning ear-to-ear as she looked back at Kamala Two, knowing that the new one was fake… but admitting that she would never had known if she hadn't seen it spring to life in front of her eyes. Jones went to touch the second Kamala, and her hand went _into_ her without touching a thing. There was no noticeable change in temperature or feeling save her hand sunk right into Kamala Two's shoulder, disappearing from view.

"Holy shit. Image clone." Now Jessica was beginning to understand what a scan was for if this girl could replicate a person's image flawlessly. Jessica could be bait… without ever leaving an airplane. "That's what going to happen." The investigator removed her hand from the holographic image of Kamala Two as it disappeared, the drone hovering in its place. "I'm guessing you invented that?"

"And won the Tri-State Area Science Competition with it. That got me noticed." The young woman replied as she inputted a command on her left arm, never touching the device but her hand movements and gestures being recognized as the drone landed softly on the closed TuffBox. "Miss Walters said you're a survivor, but going back into it would likely be more harmful than helpful. She found a way that would help you while protecting you; my Life Model Decoy can be used as bait to bring someone in who I'm guessing would recognize you on sight?" Jessica nodded, feeling that fear well up a little, but also understood what was happening. Jennifer Walters wanted to get Kilgrave, but needed him to fall into a trap. So she would give him something he would want; Jessica Jones. As she understood it, Kilgrave was in Berlin causing God knew what kind of damage and mayhem, probably being tracked by cameras or surveillance systems for safety. To get him into a trap, they would need bait. The Avengers would give Kilgrave something he _would_ want; a Jessica Jones that _wouldn't_ be controlled.

"Good, you came."

Jessica turned to see Natasha Romanoff in a black one-piece suit that was obviously oriented for tactical insertions, and Jesus if it didn't look like the female version of what Batman might wear if Bruce Wayne was a woman minus the cowl and cape. There was a black utility belt around her waist and even bracers on her arms containing more gadgets for use. The redheaded woman looked ready for action, and seeing her up close and personal had Jessica realize that the Black Widow was a little taller but… she looked more solid. This was a woman that had fought off aliens with her bare hands, video footage of her using martial arts to fight and tear apart Chitauri soldiers on the streets of New York. Being special herself, Jessica doubted that Natasha was completely normal.

"Kamala? Go ahead and get ready to load up. We're wheels up in twenty, and we'll brief everyone on the mission on the flight over." The redheaded woman said as the teenager put her drone up, closing the TuffBox. Jessica smiled as she moved to grab both hard cases, lifting both with ease thanks to her enhanced strength. Kamala was gaping a little as she hurried a little to follow Jessica, the investigator seeing the young womans' face alight with glee and curiosity as Jessica walked up the ramp of the C-17 Globemaster III with Kamala and Natasha in tow.

The twenty-six year old woman saw that there was a fair deal of equipment loaded into the belly of the large military plane, including a step van along with what she recognized as the Quinjet; the vessel that had been used in the Battle of New York against the Chitauri before it had been damaged. Now Jessica got the purpose of the military cargo plane; it didn't _look_ like an Avenger aircraft, and thus someone wouldn't prepare themselves by noticing the publicly-acknowledged Avenger aircraft in case reporters caught wind of it and broadcasted it. Plus there was good deal of equipment loaded inside, in which Jessica noted what looked to be a partition for medical purposes in case someone got hurt. It was a flying mobile command center that contained whatever a mission required, Jones realized. Natasha tapped her shoulder and pointed out where the Miss Marvel TuffBoxes could go, and Jessica loaded them into the identified spot, seeing straps to lock them in.

"Everyone," Captain Steven Grant Rogers came to the cargo area of the plane, where several rows of seats were located on the sides of the aircraft, "we'll be taking off here in the next fifteen minutes. If you can take to your seats and buckle in, we'll be giving out the mission brief when we reach cruising altitude." Jessica found herself practically being tugged by Kamala, who was all goofy grins as she dragged the investigator to a seat that would undoubtedly be next to the young womans' own. It was rather endearing to see Kamala just beaming left and right, like a kid on Christmas but way more excited. Jones knew without being told that Kamala was likely the next generation of Avenger; a girl recognized for her talents and being cultivated towards what the Avengers wanted to see. No doubt grades, attendance, and minding her parents were stipulations for whatever plan there was, and… yeah, a little part of her was jealous.

They had buckled in, and Captain America was double-checking the passengers, which included Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and that one guy she was pretty sure was the Hulk. She was pretty certain that Colonel James Rhodes was flying the plane (she heard what sounded like his voice on the intercom), and there were a few other people, too. That government woman was there, but wearing a black military-oriented uniform that had 'Hill' as a nametape. Next to Jessica was a man who was also in a dark military uniform, with the name 'Dugan' on his own chest. On the other side of him was another man whose name she couldn't read, but the dark-skinned man in question wore a military-oriented uniform as well.

"That's Commander Nate Dugan. The one over is Lieutenant Sam Wilson." Kamala said from Jessica's left, the young woman nodding to the men to Jessica's right. "We call Commander Dugan 'the Mongoose' since mongoose fight and eat snakes, and Lieutenant Wilson 'the Falcon' because he has a flying device." The investigator shook her head, not getting the reference for Dugan. "'_Snake-eater_' is a nickname for a SEAL."

"As in a fu…ricking Navy SEAL?" Jessica asked in a loud whisper, quickly changing her word usage as she looked to the young Arab woman next to her, then the man who was probably six or seven years older than she. Jones could hear the whine of the engines as the aircraft was powering up for flight. "I guess we're ready to go down the runway." That had Kamala laugh out loud. "What?"

"Where we're going? We don't need roads!" The teenager quoted Doctor Emmett Brown from _Back To The Future_ before flying off in a Delorian. "This aircraft was redesigned by Tony Stark! Do you think it needs a tarmac? It can literally land anywhere in the world regardless of terrain, urban setting, or clearance!" Khan shouted over the din of the engines.

"Then how are we going to go into the air?" Jessica shouted over the din, and got an answer from the teenager, who was smiling a mile wide.

She was pointing straight up.

"_Attention passengers, this is your Colonel speaking."_ Came the voice of Colonel James Rhodes, the War Machine obviously in charge of the aircraft as a fully-licensed pilot with the United States Air Force. "_All personnel, prepare for ascent to cruising altitude of 35,000 feet. Roof is retracting at this time."_ There was another sound just over the din of the powering engines above, Jessica unconsciously looking up trying to imagine a hanger roof splitting open like a baseball stadium might, the aircraft vibrating slightly. _"Initiating Real-Time Concealment."_ _What in the fuck?_, Jessica thought as she heard a slight hum for a few seconds. _"Marvel? We're showing one-hundred percent image projection to match the sky. Good work, kid."_ Kamala whooped as she held up her hands in victory, surprising Jessica.

"We're in an invisible _plane_?" The private investigator asked, shocked as hell as the man next to her, the SEAL, just laughed it off. "I should have kept drinking." Jessica muttered, wishing she had a flask or a bottle with her. She had been sober for at least twelve hours, ever since she was told when she would be picked up the day before. Jessica hadn't wanted to show up to an Avenger think drunk or smelling of whiskey, but now she was about to go vertical on some strange aircraft that could go invisible with a group of dedicated killers and mad scientists. God, she was just a private dick with some interesting abilities that were useful getting into places and out of jams. She didn't really belong here next to a kid who was likely the next Tony Stark and a fucking Navy SEAL. Her belly dropped a little as she felt the aircraft hum and fly upward instead of taxi'ing forward as she had initially thought, the rising feeling growing more powerful as they were undoubtedly gaining ascent.

She hadn't realized she had crushed the armrest with her hand until a few moments later, perspiring heavily as she felt herself breathing hard. _Oh God, how the fuck can I be afraid of flying when I can jump?_ A hand went on top of her own, and Jessica looked to see Kamala, seeing the young woman's hand on top of her own, this… _kid_ doing a better job than she was, her youthful face concerned. _Pull your shit together, at least appear to be in control of yourself!_ Jessica gritted her teeth as the aircraft continued to rise straight upward, vibrating slightly as it ascended to the sky. All she wanted was to be on the ground with a bottle of bourbon in her hand, not feeling as if she were drowning in her own sweat and stuck in a levitating tin can. Her hands gripped the armrests tighter, crunching under her augmented grips as she panted hard.

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck…" Jessica closed her eyes as she panted so hard she began to hyperventilate, sweat gushing out of every pore as she felt sick to her dropping stomach, the icy feeling rushing through her veins as she gulped air, trying to cool down her perspiring body, feeling herself overheating and freezing at the same time. _Oh God, I think I'm having a fucking heart attack!_

"Hey, I believe in you." Kamala said from beside her, her white teeth bright against her dusky skin as she smiled at Jones.

"You… don't know… anything 'bout me." Jessica retaliated between her own clenched teeth and sucking breath.

"I know you got onto this plane of your own free will when you had every reason to turn around and walk away." Khan replied, her hand slipping into Jessica's, the investigators' heart lurching in her chest.

"I can hurt you, crush your hand." The dark-haired woman warned Kamala, trying to get the younger woman's hand out of her own, but surprisingly the Arab had a grip that wouldn't let go.

"I trust you." Dark eyes looked right into Jessica's own brown eyes, never straying once, not even sweating as Jessica held onto that gaze, commanding her left hand to be easy, to grip only so strong as a human could do, focusing on that. "You can do this, I believe in you." That only elicited a forced laugh out of the investigators' mouth, but she focused on how hard her grip was, not wishing to hurt a kid that… God… _please don't hurt her_, Jessica fought against the hot flashes and icy veins, the struggle for breath and her own drenched skin as it felt like her flesh was too hot and too cold at the same time. _When was the last time someone looked me in the eye and said that they believed in me? That they trusted me?_

Trish. When she had escaped Kilgrave, Jessica had went right to her sister, bawling and scared out of her damn mind.

_I believe in you, Jess. I always have,_ Patricia Walker had said, holding her face with both hands as Jessica knelt on the floor of her sisters' apartment, a bawling wreck, _and I always will._

_I can do this._

Jessica focused on her breathing, trying to make it normal in volume and time as she closed her eyes, _willing_ herself to relax, to calm her frayed nerves and racing heart. The aircraft still shook and vibrated, but she was focused on her left hand, feeling the smaller right one in it; not too hard, not too hard. She focused on her breathing, on keeping her hand loose enough, to shutting her eyes and imagining herself _anywhere_ else other than an elevator ride of an airplane.

Kilgrave. She focused on Kilgrave.

_I have a chance to see this through, to see it to the end once and for all_, Jessica told herself, remembering what Trish had told her. _I need this, I need to be able to take a step forward without looking back over my shoulder._

_And I'm not alone._

The hand in hers squeezed in reassurance, and Jessica returned the favor as the vibrations slowly ceased and she felt a subtle change in direction, forward motion instead of upward. Soon, it felt like she was merely on a bus.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached cruising altitude,"_ Colonel Rhodes called over the intercom for the cargo area of the plane, _"and you can now leave your seats if you wish. Estimated travel time is three hours and forty-seven minutes, and briefing will be conducted in the loft in fifteen minutes. Thank you for choosing Avenger Air."_ The intercom clicked off as Jessica snorted out a laugh and a sob at the same time, feeling the sweat drying away as she looked over to Kamala. The young woman was smiling at her, her dark eyes right on her own. God she could really use a drink right then and there.

"I guess you were right." Jessica said as she let go of Kamala's hand, seeing the number she did on the armrest. That had been the only thing that suffered.

"Of course I was right." The teenager replied, her tone assured. "I'm a woman.

"I'm always right."

* * *

Captain Steven Grant Rogers stood in 'the loft'; the second floor of the C-17 Globemaster III that had been converted into an operations center complete with several computers for monitoring, telecommunications, surveillance, topography, and signal intercepts. Despite the modern technology that he still had trouble wrapping his head around, he understood its purpose well enough as those were the same things the Army used for operations back during the War. The technology had improved; the concept had remained solid. Everyone was more or less standing upon the upper deck in the fore section of the aircraft for the brief that he was to deliver, standing beside Jennifer Susan Walters, who would be in charge of the aircraft and the support operations while he would be in charge of the ground operations.

"Afternoon, everyone." He looked upon the faces that were now staring back at him, a few of them new, such as Jessica Jones, Nate Dugan, and Sam Wilson. The last two had been offered spots amongst the Avengers, and this would be the first of several trial runs for them. While their contributions would likely not be needed, they understood that plans changed and adapted to the situation, and that they would be needed to flex or deliver anything the ground effort would need, from medical extraction, supplies, setting a perimeter, to even heavy-hitting. The question was how they would integrate and how flexible they were. Jenn didn't just want a pair of order-takers, but men who would be team members but also able to take advantages of situations that they saw.

"For the past five days, we have been keeping Kevin Thompson under remote surveillance via the many different cameras throughout the city of Berlin thanks to the Division and the cooperation of the German Government. Because of this, we have establish movements, patterns, where he sleeps, his favorite locales, potential actors, potential vehicles, and possible escape routes and contingency plans if he feels if he is threatened." A glass pane behind Steve showed a light image of Berlin in a topographical sense, color-coded by roads, buildings, subways, and trains. A singular red dot appeared on the holographic map; the target's current location. "We know where he is, where he is going, and even hard times and locations of habits.

"And Kilgrave is a man of wealth and taste." Steve looked to Jenn and gave her a nod as she clicked upon a button on her left hand.

"Mister Thompson," Jenn picked up, "has a fatal flaw; excessive ego. He acts rich, dresses rich, eats rich, parties rich, and lives rich. He doesn't slum in dive bars or sleazy clubs. He isn't driven in average or old cars. He doesn't dress in clothes one can find in a Wal-Mart or a mall. Because of this, his movements are limited to the finer areas and establishments of Berlin, which does boast a significant illustrious lifestyle. Currently, our target has taken over the Penthouse Suite of _Hotel Teuton_, the most-expensive hotel in Germany, and he in its largest, finest, most expensive room possible." The topographical map zoomed into the location in question, several added windows showing the front, sides, and top of the Hotel. "We can assume that every member of the staff is likely under Thompson's control. Because of this, we will not be able to strike at him at his residence in case he has a kill-code for any kidnapping attempts."

"Kill-code?" Kamala Khan asked, raising her hand.

"Potential suicide order or homicide threat that he might have given to someone that he considers security." The lawyer explained, making the young woman pale slightly, Steve noted. Kamala was a good kid, but she was learning that the world was an ugly place that needed good people to defend it. She had been told what Kevin Thompson _could_ do, but not the details of what he _had_ done. "Likewise, a public strike is also likely out of the question. If this guy gets a breath, he can start a riot, a mass suicide event, a mass casualty call, or hold something like a hundred plus potential hostages. What's worse is that he will no doubt retaliate against any form of control against him. With his abilities, he can control anyone with any kind of program access for any intelligence that he wishes to gain. Thankfully, he hasn't been smart enough to control high-level government employees for top secret classification materials for sale to foreign governments or investment intelligence for corporate espionage to where he could literally make millions in days. He is petty, small-minded, and sees himself as a big fish but doesn't realize he keeps himself in a small pond. His ability is incredible, but he is not; under all the things that he steals he's really nothing more than a petty criminal living within a facade of the high-life. And we're going to use that against him."

"The plan is to draw him out to a location _we_ control." Rogers continued with the tactical portion after Jenn finished with her topographical assessment. "We know the room, we know the phone number. The man has a weakness for power, so we're going to dangle a piece of bait in front of him he won't ignore; the thing that got away." Steve looked to Jessica Jones, who looked rather uncomfortable. "With the use of the Miss Marvel Project, Kamala can produce a Life Model Decoy of Jessica that will certainly catch Thompson's eye. What we do is arrange a trap that involves a soundproof room that will close once he enters. We show him the bait, he either gives chase or we lure him into the room and close the door behind him. No sound, no control."

"The issue is getting him to the location itself; we can't just set this trap anywhere." Jennifer took over when Steve nodded to her. "The plan is to have him in our custody tonight. Custody, not dead." Steve noted that a few were uncertain of this action. "We can't just murder a man in public with no trial or arrest, even with the German Governments' support. Thompson _cannot_ go to jail or trial. Nor can he drop dead in front of dozens of people with a well-placed shot to the head to launch an investigation with some people in Germany knowing we were there at the same time. Some asshole will talk, accidentally or not, and we don't have alibis. It won't be enough for a trial ourselves, but the last thing we need is to be seen or thought doing is killing random persons throughout the world that no one knows about. Kilgrave is very dangerous, but thankfully relatively unknown to the governments of the world. No one has tried to take him and use him for his ability, but it may be a matter of time before someone gases him and puts some sort of electric shock collar around his neck and unleashes a new kind of biological warfare weapon under the control of someone with more ego than brains. The last thing we need is this asshole being paid by North Korea to wreck havoc on America or fueling the Palestinian-Israeli Conflict. He needs to go, very quickly and very quietly."

"Thompson has random likes, but the one constant he does seem to have is his favorite dining location for dinner." The Captain continued, the image shifting to a five-star French restaurant known as _Talent_. "Now he visits this location twice a day, taking advantage of his twelve hour time limit of his abilities. We assume that when he goes in the morning, it's to tell the staff to be there for the evening, and then does so again in the evening after his dinner is concluded. This trap will sadly mean that he will be in public surrounded by people, and one word might kill people. Which is why we will have our only _deaf_ member present as a backup plan in case something goes off script." Steve looked to Clint Barton. "Hawkeye will arrive dressed as one of the staff, being fully deaf and having his audio implants removed to be on the safe side. He will have a pair of holographic glasses on made by Tony to script out any transmissions to him, either through ourselves or the people around him so he can understand what's going on, but we will make sure that Kilgrave does not leave that location unless it's in our custody. Clint will have a tranquilizer delivery system with a sedative strong enough to knock a man out for a few hours if the initial plan fails, but this might draw repercussions if there are people who have been told to rescue him if captured or a kill attempt is made.

"Jessica, via the _Miss Marvel Project_," Jennifer spoke, "will enter the restaurant after Clint confirms Thompson's presence. The Life Model Decoy will get a table and walk towards it, and with the help of surveillance drones, we will be sure that Kilgrave spots the fake Jessica. Kamala will have the drone fly towards the rear service entrance where goods are normally stored, where our soundproof box is located as the back of a step van. Clint will assist in the opening of any doors to keep the holographic image from being discovered as a fake, and Natasha will be driving the vehicle, the cab made soundproof as well as noise-canceling headphones. The other Avengers will be in several locations throughout the city at a safe distance in case Kilgrave gets spooked and rabbits, in which if he does leave the containment of the restaurant, kill shots will be authorized. This man has the extreme potential of being a very dangerous enemy, more than enough to kill us all with but a few words. Our advantages are that he doesn't know that we are coming, we have better coordination than he since he can't order people over a phone or a radio, and he likely thinks that since he can control anyone that he can see or within range of his voice, that he will likely continue getting away with it.

"Gentlemen, I'd like to prove him wrong."

* * *

**The **_**Piazza**_**, Berlin, Germany, September 16, 2012**

Lieutenant Commander Nathaniel Troy Dugan was fast-roping from a Vertical Take Off and Landing aircraft that just happened to be an Avenger-owned Bell Aerospace C-17 Globemaster III, having been extensively modified over a few months by Tony Stark to be an aircraft that wouldn't be recognizable as an Avenger aircraft. There were more than enough C-130 Hercules' and C-17 Globemaster IIIs flying about that it would give what Jennifer Walters called _Gungnir _anonymity if just casually looked at. It was a damn good aircraft that boasted practically anything a mission might need; the ability to fly or land anywhere, food and water for drops, medical evacuation and an emergency room right on board, and even a small fabrication suite to craft whatever might be necessary with a Stark Industries' 3D Printer that likely blew the competition away. It wasn't a stretch when he thought of it as the most advanced and capable plane on the planet.

And he was jumping out of a perfectly good one hovering fifteen meters over a high-end mall in Berlin courtesy of a fast-rope with everyone none-the-wiser alongside Captain America, Hawkeye, and the Black Widow.

Nate was rather glad he decided to get out and go that next step that hadn't even existed four months prior.

It was heading towards evening in Germany when the four of them landed on the mall's rooftop, the gravel laid upon it crunching on their feet as Nate unhooked himself from the fast rope by feeding the rest of the rope through his carabineer quickly as _Gungnir_ began to bank away, damn near completely invisible to the human eye even at its low altitude while the repulsor engines (that's what he assumed they were) were but a fraction of the noise of a normal military aircraft, which generally had the option _as loud as fucking possible_. No, the _Gungnir_ flew over a mall and deposited four people onto its roof and the only thing that had noticed were the birds. _Invisible hovering cargo plane_ alone was worth the price of admission, and Dugan fully admitted that he could think of about _every_ mission he had ever been on where something like that would have been exactly what was needed. The Avengers were obviously of the mindset of being proactive and evolving towards situations that could happen in the future so as to solve them with a game plan already in mind.

It wasn't like being in the Navy SEALs, but damn if it didn't feel like something better.

"_Mongoose, there's a roof access on the south side of the mall. Take it and make your way towards a good line-of-sight for the front entrance of _Talent_."_ The voice of Captain America came to his left ear over the EarComms that either Tony, that little genius kid Kamala, or God knew who else invented. It was an earbud that would also pick up their words thanks to an extension that was just behind the earlobe, touching the skin to pick up the sounds of words from behind the jaw. No clunky apparatus like the Navy or Army had, with radios the size of bricks and wires all over the place. An earbud that looked like a hearing aid. That was it. Nate worked his way south while the others took to either the north, east, or west, splitting up so they didn't look like a strike team. He knew what role he would be playing today; he was the failsafe. After hearing what this Kevin Thompson had done to an untold amount of victims, putting a round through his skull didn't even have a hiccup in his moral conscious. Man murdered people because it amused him.

Karma wasn't just a stripper at a club, after all.

Nate found the roof access easily enough, plucking a tumbler gun from one of his pockets and sticking it into the lock and squeezing the trigger a few times grind the internal tumblers down to unlock the padlock to keep unauthorized persons such as himself from entering. Ten seconds later, he was turning the gun to unlock the padlock and opening the metal door to find a ladder that went into a service corridor. Dugan slipped inside, closing the hatch behind him as he went down the ladder Navy-style, sliding down the apparatus instead of climbing down as his booted feet hit hallway. He was currently disguised in a windbreaker that proclaimed _Hertha BSC_ for anonymity, knowing that his face would be unknown to the German public at large unlike the other three ground personnel. The _Piazza_ had miles of service corridors that ran behind smaller shops and stores for the mall, feeding into the main shopping areas as well as loading dock for consumer items and foodstuff for the mall's galley. Nate went the quickest route through the well-lit corridors and into the mall proper to avoid being seen where he wasn't suppose to be as he entered into the wide halls of the _Piazza's_ shopping area, the mall heavily-populated with Germans shopping the high-end shopping structure. Thankfully, he knew enough German to read and understand most of what was around him as he headed towards one of the exits that would lead him towards the restaurant called _Talent_.

"_Mongoose, this is Little Sister."_ That would be Kamala Khan, playing the controller for the insertion with a joke codename that was a play on 'Big Brother'. She was monitoring the surveillance feeds as well as deploying several of her handy little drones. _"VET has left his nest with a pretty _Fraulein_ at his side. He's wearing, get this, a purple suit, Armani-style. Very tacky."_ 'VET' was the codename for the target; it stood for 'Verified Enhanced Target'. The description had Nate snort as he worked his way out of the mall and into its parking lot, filled with a great deal of European automobiles, mostly German ones. He didn't see one American car or truck in sight. _"_Frau_ is wearing a _very_ nice black cocktail dress that compliments her in all the right ways. Very classy."_ The SEAL knew that the woman was a victim of mind-control, a sex slave in fine clothing. _"They got themselves a nice black BMW and an _Herr_ as chauffeur. And… jeez, it's an M5."_ Those were _very_ expensive and not allowed in America. _"I know what I'm begging my sugar daddy for when I turn sixteen."_

"I don't think you need a rocket-schnitzel for your first car, Little Sister." Nate said as he crossed the parking lot, rather wary that Germans were a little manic behind the wheel. He thought Kuwaiti drivers bad. "And please don't tell me you referenced the Big T as your sugar daddy. That's wrong on so many levels." Actually, the banter was putting him in a good mood; it almost felt like he was with his Team, the dark humor of the military that would joke about anything and everything even in the worst of situations against the worst of assholes. It put him in his groove. Then again, the teenaged girl spent a summer under the tutelage of Tony Stark. No doubt there was trauma and emotional scars from that. "Find me a good building with a view from the roof to the front door, Sister."

"_Reservations are made, Mongoose, top shelf and with window seating. Downloading waypoint."_ The glasses that he wore were some kind of advanced holographic display unit that sent an image onto the interior of the lenses to display information or waypoints to cut down on guess time. They were fucking marvelous. Well, they were made by Miss Marvel. She called them Augmented Reality Glasses, and they were as amazing as advertised. This was a high school student who probably still watched Saturday Morning cartoons and hopefully thought boys were still gross. Unlikely, but he hoped. God (and Allah, he supposed) help that girl's father. A helpful blue diamond icon sprang up in his vision, hovering well above ground level and some distance in front of him, along with a digital strip compass at the bottom of his glass lenses where another marker indicated the direction as well as the distance in meters. _"I hope you don't mind the format. I stole it from _Fallout_."_

"Video game?"

"_Yep!"_ He should have expected that, but that was fine. There was a great deal of advanced ideas in movies and video games, and people who tried making real world versions of such things. If he ended up with a tricorder from _Star Trek_, Nate wouldn't be surprised. Not really. Dugan continued his way out through the parking lot and into the Berlin streets, aided by the waypoint given to him by his controller. Jennifer Walters was handling Captain America, Hawkeye, and Black Widow, with Major Maria Hill overseeing everything and offering tactical advice as needed. Kamala was in charge of him and Lieutenant Sam Wilson, what she called _Avengers 2.0_ as a joke. _"Following VET's vehicle via traffic cams. So far, it seems to be just him, the driver, and the _Frau_."_

Nate tried not to think of what that woman was going through, a mental slave. He knew that the woman that they had brought with them, Jessica Jones, had been as such. He knew trauma when he saw it, and Jessica was _very_ traumatized, even to a point where _he_ was concerned. The bottle that he could see her trying to find with her hands wasn't there to solve the problems but to drown her own tormented dreams and screams. He promised himself he would talk to her. He knew what she had survived, and had earned a great deal of respect from him.

"Found the building." Dugan was looking up, seeing the waypoint in the sky but buried in a ten-story building. "Law office." Jennifer would probably be amused by that. "Need a schematic on how I can get to the roof, Little Sister."

"_Well, what do you know? I got you a Jason Bourne moment."_ There was a hint of amusement in Kamala's tone. _"Take the elevator on the ground floor to the top floor, Mongoose. Then you're just going to have to scale up to the roof, unfortunately."_ Nate wasn't too worried; he had done such things before. _"Need a drop-off of any equipment?"_

"Nope, I'm good." The SEAL told his fifteen-year old counterpart, knowing that the Falcon was responsible for 'delivery service' for any needed equipment. Unfortunately, his flying rig was fairly noticeable, so he was a contingency plan. Nate understood why those who were on the ground had been selected; limited collateral damage. If any of them were controlled, the results would be less severe than if it had been Tony Stark in his Iron Man suit or James Rhodes in his War Machine suit. Plus those two were very visible and easily recognized. No, this was a tactical strike that would take away a bad player and erase him from the board with everyone none-the-wiser. For a man who could dominate with but a word, anonymity was a necessity. Nate entered the law office buildings' ground floor and eyeballed the security guard manning the desk, an overweight German in a light gray uniform paying more attention to his cell phone than the monitors at his desk or those going in.

Perfect.

Dugan found the door labeled '_treppen_' as he pushed through it and began climbing the ten flight of stairs, which was merely an exercise for him instead of a potential heart attack, reaching the tenth story without running into anyone. The waypoint in his glasses showed a potential access point; a window at the last landing of the stairwell that was thankfully unlocked, the former Navy SEAL sliding the window open and exiting the interior of the building and standing on a small ledge about as wide as an Olympic balance beam. Closing the window with his foot while gripping the side of the building, Nate looked up to see the ledge of the roof only a couple of feet up from him. A good jump and outstretched arms had him catching it as he pulled himself upward with ease, climbing onto the roof.

The waypoint shifted to the entrance of the restaurant known as _Talent_.

Nate found himself a good Observation Post as he pulled from under his _Hertha_ windbreaker a buttstock from under his right arm. Looking at the high-scale French restaurant from ten stories up and across the street, Dugan removed the buttstock cap from the end and pulled out first the receiver, slipping it into the grooves of the front face of the buttstock until it clicked into place. Then he removed the barrel from the buttstock, screwing it into the front of the receiver as well, a sixteen inch barrel now attached. He then pulled out from one of his pockets a small magazine loaded with eight rounds of .17 Hornady Magnum Rimfire, known as the .17 HMR, a very fast necked-down .22 LR that had very little in the way of bullet drop.

The rifle in his hand was built on the concept of the classic AR-7 Survivalist Rifle, but had been manufactured in Stark Tower to be the choice weapon of a dedicated shooter.

Nate loaded the magazine the size of a Bic Lighter into the magazine well and slid the bolt receiver back to load the first round, a four point five millimeter round that had a microgram of high-explosives compressed into its tip, meant to strike through the body of a perpetrator and detonate a microsecond later… somewhere in the body, taking approximately three cubic centimeters along with it. It was enough to liquefy the brain, the heart, a lung, a liver, or completely sever a limb, resulting in a statistical 'one shot, one kill' scenario instead of a possibility. No matter how good a shooter, even a round to a heart, while very potentially lethal, wasn't always a guarantee. Doctor Henry Jonathan 'Hank' Pym had designed the rifle for Nate, creating a unique and versatile weapon that was collapsible and very lethal within five hundred meters. Taking a small device from another pocket, Dugan clipped it to the top of the weapon's receiver, and saw a holographic sight pop up without the need of any physical housing, which included the option of three-powered zooming capabilities.

What started as an Air Force pilots' AR-7 Survival Rifle had become a very lethal instrument in the hands of a professional shooter.

"Little Sister, Mongoose up and ready." Nate said softly as he eyeballed the street and the people walking along its sidewalks and across the rives of concrete where automobiles played.

"_Roger, Mongoose. Chariot is but a minute from the ball, and Cinderella has got her glass slippers on."_ That had the SEAL snort. That meant everything on the others' end was ready to go. _"Hold on for Big Momma."_ That was the codename for Jennifer Walters, and Nate heard the EarComm crackle with the switching of channels.

"_Mongoose, Big Momma."_ The CEO of the Avengers spoke, her tone lowered enough to indicate she wasn't speaking loud enough for everyone in the Mobile Tactical Command Center inside the _Gungnir_ to hear her. _"Once VET walks in that building, he does not leave without our permission. He either leaves in our custody… or not at all."_ Nate was use to such orders, but this was a first hearing it from a lawyer. _"He steps inside, he remains inside until he falls into our trap. If he tries walking out that front door?_

"_I want you to drop him on the spot."_

Ah, that was why she was giving the order; Jennifer wasn't leaving it for the fifteen-year old to proclaim it. Good.

"Understood, ma'am." Dugan replied as he got into a kneeling supported position, resting the barrel of the AR-7 on the building ledge as he aimed it towards the door of _Talent_. While he hoped the bait-and-trap worked (it really was a good plan), he wouldn't mind it if this Kilgrave decided at the last second that he wanted to go to another restaurant.

Some men were better off dead, after all.

* * *

Author's Notes: For those who watch Jessica Jones Season One, I know this is completely different. Jessica was a traumatized woman who solved her issues with petty uses of her powers and the bottle. This isn't that kind of story, though I do show what Jessica is suffering (haunted, possibly having the DT's).

Yes, I named the awesome Avenger C-17 Globemaster III _Gungnir_, the Odinspear. This is my answer to the impracticality of having a very visible and recognizable jet (the Quinjet) being seen and possibly televised as leaving. Plus in the beginning of _Age of Ultron_, you see that six people (one in a medical bed) leaves little room for other things (not to mention that the plane was unmanned and undefended for anyone to mess with). The _Gungnir_ is my answer to these little issues as well as having a mobile tactical operations command center. The invisibility portion isn't what the Helicarrier had (which is cameras shooting images from up and reflecting them down for 'cameoflage') but instead has a Life Model Decoy of the sky being holographically displayed on the bottom.

_Hertha BSC_? Hertha Berliner Sports-Club is the Tier I Team of Berlin under the _1\. Bundesliga_. Their jersey colors are vertical stripes, blue and white. This is not the national team that plays for the World Cup, but the team that plays other German Football Clubs for the annual UEFA Championship. An equivalent would be Manchester United FC or the Seattle Sounders FC. If one wants to be incognito, one would do well to wear the local sports team jersey. Don't walk in Boston flashing Yankee colors.

Henry Repeating Arms' AR-7 Survivalist Rifle - a compact, disassembled weapon in which the receiver and barrel can fit into a buttstock. Chambered in .22LR, it is a weapon that was given to Air Force pilots in case of crash landings. While not an elegant weapon, the buttstock is waterproof, the weapon light in weight, can carry up to two to three magazines, and is meant as a defensive weapon with a better range than a pistol. I'm not sure if it is still issued today or not.

Yes, Doctor Hank Pym giant-sized the bullets, packed the tips with hi-ex compound, and then shrunk them back down to fun size for lethal bullets.

I mention that no matter how accurate the shot, people can survive such things as bullets to the head and heart. This is one of a SWAT Snipers' fears during a hostage situation when a shooter might have a muscle reflex or enough time to push a button despite a killshot.


	18. In The Season Of Wither, III

_Really, Disney owns just about everything. _

_**Talent**_**, Berlin, Germany, September 16, 2012**

Author's Notes: A day in the life of a sociopath mind-controlling limey asshole.

* * *

Kevin Carmichael Thompson stepped out of the black 2012 BMW M-5 four-door sedan, his door being held open by his driver as he stood up, his brown eyes sweeping quickly from left to right out of habit; a predator gazing over its prey. The thirty-four year old man's hands automatically went to the buttons of his black Georgio Armani Herringbone two-piece wool suit as his scanning ended as he heard the clatter of heels on pavement and he looked to his left, a beautiful German woman dressed lavishly in a black glitter lace v-neck gown at his side.

Her name was Gretchen. Gretchen… something German.

Kevin saw his driver close the rear door of the BMW as people standing in line for the Five-Star French Restaurant known as _Talent_ looked over to see who had arrived, seeing appraising looks from those who waited to enter the fine restaurant, seeing a well-dressed man and the beautiful woman at his side being escorted in a high-priced luxury sedan with its own driver, recognition coming to their eyes. They might not know his face, but they knew _what_ he was; power, a lion amongst the lambs. He took a deep breath of the Berlin air as he looked to the driver (whatever his name was).

"Park the car legally and wait for us." Thompson said casually, his clipped British accent perfect for his appearance. He looked ever inch he rich, affluent, British gentleman. "Be back here in an hour."

"_Ja, Herr."_ The German replied obediently, moving towards the driver side door to comply without hesitation. Thankfully, the man understood English. That had been an issue before when he first came to Germany, but thankfully a great many Europeans understood a _proper_ language as well as their own, and he didn't have to go learn another language. Kevin knew what a mistranslated word could do, and he had to mind what he said, giving explicit orders for accuracy. He once told a man to park a car… and the man had parked it at that immediate spot, a tow-away zone. Such a silly thing, but the man had done what Thompson had asked. He had also gotten arrested and dragged away by New York's Finest when he refused to let the tow company take the car away. He had found that rather amusing to watch.

Kilgrave was all about giving himself a great deal of wealth, power, and amusements.

"Come, dear. Take my arm and let us go eat." Kilgrave told Gretchen, holding out his arm for the _Fraulein _to take. She did so, mimicking his smile as the walked together towards the front entrance of _Talent_, the BMW behind them driving away for a legal parking spot as Kevin went straight for the front door where a _maitre d' porte_ awaited under an awning with a tablet in hand, containing a list of reservations and updating with available seating for those without. Reservations were booked at least three weeks in advance, and as he understood it, people who waited in line often never entered.

Kilgrave didn't wait in lines.

"You have my reservation." The British man told the doorman, the employee in the white suit immediately looking up from his electronic device to the man who had spoken to him. Kevin never used his name, and he was _always_ on the guest list. _Always_.

"_Oui, monsieur_. Right this way." The _maitre d'porte_ replied earnestly, always punctual for his evening shift, and even there in the mornings. As told. The white-suited German man who also spoke French and English turned to lead Thompson and his trophy into the establishment, opening the stained oak door with its brass handles and frosted glass windows as the smell of _haute cuisine_ waifed from the interior of the establishment as Kilgrave and his little female partner entered into _Talent_ bypassing the many who were in line and whomever else had reservations. The sound of a string quartet playing Vivaldi in one corner complimented the smells of traditional high-level French cuisine as a crystal chandelier and white tablecloths draped over white oak table and chairs gilded and engraved to display the wealth and refinement of the establishment known as _Talent_ greeted Kevin Thompson as he graced the lobby where the _maitre d'restaurant_ looked up to see whom the doorman admitted. The _maitre d'_s eyes went wide as the well-groomed man saw who had entered.

"Ah, _Monsieur _Thompson. Your table is ready." The head waiter greeted, offering a white-gloved hand toward the direction of the one table that no one else sat at. Kilgrave's table was always ready. With a pair of menus in his left hand, the _maitre d_ lead the British man and his German companion towards the table that sat near enough the quartet without the sound of the small ensemble overpowering his voice. As always, the head waiter pulled the chair for Kevin first, seating him before he saw to the _Fraulein_, pulling her chair to seat the lady afterwards. A pair of menus were delivered in front of them as another waiter in a white suit and black slack came with a bottle and a pair of wine glasses, popping the cork on the bottle of the nights' house wine, a white zinfandel. The menus were the wine lists, and Kevin was already looking at the offerings, the names in heavy calligraphy.

"And what would the _monsieur_ and _mademoiselle_ wish to drink?" The waiter with the wine bottle asked in heavily-accented French as he poured slowly, tipping the glass to let the white breathe. The first glass went to Gretchen before the second glass was beginning to be poured. Kevin looked up from the menu and looked to the man, not recognizing him.

"I do believe that I will have what I had last night." Thompson told the man in the white suit, seeing the towel draped over his left arm while holding the wine in his right. "You are new here, yes? I would recognize those eyes. You have the most intense eyes I have ever seen on a man."

"_Merci, Monsieur_. My _mère_ gave them to me." The man replied with a nod of his head. Kevin looked the man over. He was tall, well-built under that uniform, sported a close-crop haircut of blond hair mostly seen with athletes and military.

"Where do you come from?" Kilgrave asked, his eyes on no one else but the waiter.

"Bristol." The man replied, looking a little surprised by the question, and the answer, too. His accent was now more of a western English accent, almost Welsh.

"You're English. Yet you speak French rather well, and even accented your English." Kevin observed. He had met others like this, travelers or _Francophiles_ who would imitate a culture. Yet this man was doing it in Germany. "Why?"

"Learned French and German in secondary school, got a scholarship to play football in Munich." The man replied instantly. "Didn't pan out, but my language skills opened doors for employment opportunities. Get to travel the world while earning money doing so."

"Interesting." There was a reason Kevin wasn't in England; over a decade of living in his home country had the authorities catching on to him even if they didn't know how. "Are you MI6?"

"No, gov'ner." Actually, it was a bit charming to hear his own language again, not that uncouth accent that Americans had. Even if it was from a damn-near Welshman.

"Her Majesty's Royal Service?" That was an organization few knew about. MI6 was the public face of British Intelligence. The HMRS was the ones who visited when one was asleep to make sure one never woke up again.

"No, gov'ner. Never heard of them." The man replied again, looking a little confused. That was to be expected.

"Do you work for the British government or the German government at all?"

"No, gov'ner." There was something about the man that didn't peg right, but Kevin couldn't put his finger on it. That an Englishman would speak several languages even at a better-than-fair level wasn't that unusual, and certainly being multi-lingual would help get one to many places. The common European probably knew a dozen or so words in the many languages in the continent, but holding a small conversation in someone else's native language was a big difference.

"Well, Bristol, this is what I want you to do." Thompson said with a smile. "I want you to give me those magnificent eyes of yours."

"I'll go get the knife." The man promised, practically bolting towards the back of the restaurant, heading towards the swinging double-doors where the kitchen laid.

"Oh, bloody hell. I forgot to remind him to get the wine first before he brought me his eyes." Thompson muttered under his breath, looking to Gretchen who sat there without saying a word. She was fluent in English and so understood his every word, but she had been told not to speak until spoken to. He didn't like her thick German accent. "Still, the house zinfandel will suffice for now." The Englishman picked up his glass and swirled its contents while giving an experimental sniff of the vintage. As he was about to sip, he saw his napkin-rolled silverwear in front of him. Not that that was unusual, but he thought it particularly odd that Bristol had went to the kitchen to get a knife when there was a perfectly good steak knife wrapped in the white linen napkin. Well, Kilgrave hadn't _specified_ what to use, and likely the man thought of the first practical object to accomplish the deed; a chefs' knife, most likely. It wouldn't take long for the man to return, or at least the sound of someone stumbling about trying to make their way back to Kilgrave without being able to see. The sight of a man holding his own bloody eyes in the restaurant would prove rather amusing. Especially the reactions from the other customers.

After a minute of waiting, Kilgrave grew impatient with waiting and turned to look at the double doors that led to the kitchen. He hadn't gotten his wine, nor had the man returned. He was about to call for the nearest waiter when he saw the double doors open without anyone entering or leaving…

…and he saw _her_.

There she stood in her magnificent beauty and strength, his angel, his little Goddess. Her raven-black hair was done up and piled on top of her head in just the way that he liked, baring that magnificent neck of hers while leaving her face open for all to gaze upon, but not too long unless they wanted him to gouge their eyes out. She was dressed in a deep maroon evening gown, mouth-wateringly enticing that covered everything while suggesting everything at the same time, that color so disarming against her creamy pale skin and complimenting that lustrous dark hair of hers. She stood here with her gloved arms wrapped in velvet in a pose that brooked no other thought; she stood there with a teasing smile as a hand slipped up and a finger crooked, beckoning him closer as she turned and went deeper into the restaurant, the double-doors swinging close, that vision of loveliness departing his sight.

"Jessica." Kevin whispered, his heart thudding in his chest as he felt himself practically stumbling out of his chair to head towards the double doors, forgetting the wine, the man whose eyes he asked for, the German woman left at the table. He no longer noticed the people in the restaurant or its staff as he went to the doors, pushing them open to see the kitchen within where men and women cooked while wearing traditional chefs' clothing. He looked and saw _her_ walking away as her head turned just enough to flash him a coying smile, ruby red lips that held such promise as she slipped past a door further in. Kevin was like a magnet attracted, a laser-guided missile heading straight for his target as he followed, unable to turn away from that Goddess that enthralled him so as he pushed on further, not even commanding the chefs to get out of his way as he turned to where _she_ had been.

Down a corridor, she stood inside a darkened room.

"Jessica, I…" Kevin began.

"Some things are better enjoyed in the dark." Those ruby red lips spoke, that burlesque American accent that was so uncouth in the mouth of others so deceptively captivating in _her _voice_._ Again, a white velveted hand crooked a finger, luring him into that wonderful trap that would involve her arms and her lips, and then her legs and her sinful body. Of all the many, _many_ women that Kilgrave had ever been with, none had ever held a candle to _her_, his Goddess, his angel, the woman who tugged at his soul and was never away from his mind. Only a woman as strong as she could ever have the power to hold his gaze on her and no other, and he would ravish her while in those strong arms, feeling her delight as he stumbled towards her like a drunk heading to a liquor store, the light of salvation upon him after _so_ long without his beautiful angel…

_SLAM._

The room plunged into darkness.

* * *

Kilgrave couldn't see anything.

"_Checkmate."_ A voice spoke, but it wasn't _hers_. It was a woman's voice, American, something… Californian, perhaps? Jessica appeared before him, brighter than before, and Kevin Thompson found himself in an enclosed room with Jessica Campbell Jones standing right before him, almost as if she were both a human being and a light bulb at the same time. He saw that the walls were made of steel, and there didn't appear to be any door or window on any of the walls.

"Let me out of here." Kilgrave growled, his gaze upon the bright woman in front of him as he reached for her arm… and his hand went right through. He hadn't touched _anything_, and there wasn't even a whisper of a change of temperature or any kind of sensation. He passed his hand through the arm again to see the same effect, and then put his hand onto one of Jessica's breasts, disappearing from sight as his hand sunk into her chest with no resistance whatsoever. "What the bloody hell?"

"_Life Model Decoy, holographic image."_ The woman's voice said as Jessica's image sputtered digitally like a digital television losing its signal, squares that were mis-colored and misshapen warping and weaving the image as the one of Jessica was replaced with that of some man in a suit in a classic Man in Black attire, including the signature sunglasses. It stood there in a straight position, without moving, like a mannequin. _"We used Miss Jones' image to lure you in, Mister Thompson. And you fell into our trap."_

"My name is _Kilgrave_, and whoever you are? You're dead." The Englishman promised, only to be thrown backwards as the room he was in began to move, falling back to the wall he had entered through only moments before. "Are… we in a vehicle?"

"'_We' is the incorrect pronoun, Mister Thompson."_ The woman's voice answered from the Man in Black's image. _"'I' am somewhere else. 'You' are in a soundproof box that is attached to a step van that is currently being driven out of Berlin for pickup. It also happens to have a United States Navy Warlock Duke Electronic Warfare System that jams electronic signals in case you happen to have any hired help connected to a panic button. The only frequency allowed through… is _mine_."_ There was no disguising that tone. Whoever this woman was knew who he was, what he was, what he could do… and found a way to defeat it. A soundproof room with steel walls with no living person inside meant that he was in a cage.

And they were taking him away.

"Where are you taking me?" Kevin asked, feeling the beginnings of sweat dot his forehead and his armpits under his Armani suit. No, he was smart, he was capable. He could think his way out of this. Someone would have to open the door to restrain him, and it would all be over. "Are you going to sell me to some country so I can further whatever shite causes they have? Or smuggle weapons across borders. Steal sensitive information and send it to the black market? You aren't the first to discover what I can do and try to profit from it, dead woman."

"_That's because they were motivated by greed, Kevin."_

"My name is _KILGRAVE!_" The Englishman shouted at the hologram, rather uselessly.

"_Your name is Kevin Carmichael Thompson, born in Manchester on April Eighteenth, Nineteen Seventy-Six. Son of Doctor Albert Thompson and Doctor Louise Thompson."_ The voice informed him, and the man who called himself Kilgrave felt a little shiver down his spine at that. No one, and that meant _no one_, knew that information save his reclusive parents. He had went to great length and pains to erase any and all information about him from the National Registry in England. He hadn't even been sure how that one woman, Reva Connors, had been able to get her hands on the data inside her thumb drive pertaining to the experiments that his parents had done to him that had been utterly painful but had given him his wonderful gift, too. All he needed to know was how many copies the woman had before he made her break it before Jessica punched the woman in the chest and killed her. _"All those clothes, cars, women, money, and accessories, and I bet you would kill to have a friend right now. All that power, and in then end you're just a man."_

"I am not a man, you… _poof!_" Kilgrave roared, taking a step closer to the glowing Man in Black. "I …AM… A… _GOD_!"

The Man in Black image never moved, as still as a statue.

"_Puny God."_

The image disappeared as Kilgrave was plunged into inky blackness as he was thrown to his right, slamming into the steel wall as he felt the box being moved to locations unknown, screaming at the top of his lungs.

In the middle of a soundproof room.

* * *

"Ba-de-dum-bum, bum, bum. Ba-bum-dum-de-da-dum! Bum, bum, bum. Ba-bum-dum-de-da-dum! Bow, bow, bow. Bow-bum-dum-de-da-bow! Bow, bow, bow. Bow-bum-dum-de-da-bow!"

The step van was driven by Natasha Alianovna Romanoff through the streets of Berlin, observing every traffic law and staying within the posted kilometers-per-hour speed limit of every street, the blinker used at every turn, the proper gap between itself and the vehicle in front of it. A police officer who noted the van's motorist abilities might have wept at the sight of a perfect driver observing every law of the road, but when one was hauling such volatile cargo, one didn't take chances.

Natasha was sitting in the cab, driving the step van in a classic one-piece work jumper colored brown, along with a brown baseball hat over her red hair that proclaimed her to be a driver for the United Parcel Service, or UPS for short. It was a really good cover, being a package delivery service that drove around in such noticeable vehicles, though UPS hadn't cracked the European world like it had America where UPS trucks numbered in the dozens in every major city in America and Canada. Nat sat in the driver seat with both hands on the wheel driving the step van while listening to the radio perhaps a _little_ too loudly to drown out any other words as she chewed bubblegum and sang the lyrics to an iconic song made famous by a British band. Thankfully, it was in English, meaning it made more sense as she drove down the streets, her head bopping to the beat of the bass guitar-driven song as she headed towards her prescribed location.

"Steve walks warily down the street, with the brim pulled way down low," Nat sang as she chewed on her piece of Wrigley's Peppermint Gum, her head bopping and tilting with the bass drum of the song. "Ain't no sound but the sound of his feet, machine guns ready to go." Thankfully, the Augmented Reality Glasses that were created and manufactured in Stark Tower, an idea made by that sweet, clever girl Kamala Khan, showed where her destination was by means of a little diamond icon that showed where and how far the target was, and a friendly blue line that showed the best route too, like a TomTom but without the device or the annoying British ladies' voice. Kamala said she got the idea from a pair of first-person games; _Fallout_ and _Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim_, something about some clairvoyance spell. Nat promised herself she'd look into it. "Are you ready, hey! Are you ready for this? Are you hanging off the edge of your seat?" Nat drove prosaically as she followed the friendly route guide, seeing that she had a couple more mile to go to reach a rather empty area. No more hustles to airports! "Out of the doorway the bullets rip, to the sound of the beat." She checked her mirrors, continued to drive, and sang out the songs' chorus at the same time.

"Another one bites the dust! Bap!" The Black Widow sang while making a low-speed getaway in a UPS van that carried exactly _one_ package inside a steel wall room surrounded by soundproofing material before being wrapped up in more steel, the only access a drop door that was locked and had no future appointments of opening up anytime soon. "Bum, bum, bum. Another one bites the dust!" The right blinker went on as Natasha followed the sign for the turnabout and made a nice, easy right hand turn that didn't involve a curb, a telltale sign of someone who took a turn too tight as the redhead drove with the wheel in both hands and checking her mirrors. "And another one gone, another one gone, another one bites the dust!" She executed the turn perfectly, of course.

"Hey! I'm going to get you, too! Another one bites the dust!" Nat sang as she chewed her gum and bopped her head to the beat.

In the back, she had a passenger. She couldn't hear him at all as she continued to drive towards the marker where the _Gungnir_ was generally located, somewhere on or above land, possibly visible, but possibly not. Nat wasn't too worried; they were expecting her.

"Bum, bum, bum. Ba-bum-dum-de-da-dum! Bum, bum, bum. Ba-bum-dum-de-da-dum!"

* * *

**Boeing C-17 Globemaster III "**_**Gungnir**_**", German Airspace, Germany, September 16, 2012**

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq. (CEO, Avengers), stood in 'the loft' that was the mobile tactical operations center for the Avengers, receiving intelligence such as maps, radio broadcasts, police scans, relayed closed circuit television signals, and any intercepted cell phone communications to give the ground team the most accurate and up-to-date information they needed to conduct their mission. This mission had officially been their 'first' mission as a real team as oppose to an assembled squad of strangers that had little in the way of trust or cohesion amongst themselves. And the mission had gone off without a hitch, all that time spent planning, preparing, fabricating, and managing the ordeal to conduct what was essentially a ten-minute strike with the prize in their hands. Major Maria Jacoba Hill had told her that a real military strike or raid was like that; hours if not days of prep work for a five-minute action sequence followed by fifteen minutes of intel snatch-and-grab followed by an exfil. The SHIELD Deputy Director of Operations said that if the mission went short and sweet, then it went right.

Thank God for that; they couldn't afford to bungle with a man like Kevin Thompson.

Jennifer stepped into the cockpit for a moment to see Colonel James Rupert 'Rhodey' Rhodes piloting the Boeing aircraft, seeing if he was in need of anything as they embarked on their journey back to the States. The Air Force Colonel still had his thermos of coffee that she had given him before 'takeoff', in which was really the Globemaster III landing vertically in a field so they could collect their ground team clandestinely thanks to Kamala Khan's holographic projections that rendered the aircraft practically invisible with freeform light images of their surroundings. Even dropping the ramp wouldn't expose that the Avenger were around with a projection that would 'shade' the interior of the craft as well with the ramp deployed, the members of the Avengers given Augmented Reality Overlay glasses to show them the waypoint of where the aircraft had landed so they knew where it was located even if they couldn't see it. The plane, named after Odin's legendary spear, was a work of art, and Tony' was all smiles with PROJECT: MATILDA on its first successful mission.

They all had a cause to be happy.

"Miss Walters, air traffic control still isn't tracking us, and we are currently at an altitude of forty-one thousand feet with no one at our layer within twenty-five nautical miles." Kamala Khan spoke from her station, being the communications officer for the mission. Yes, Jenn did have to get permission from Kamala's parents for her to come on a trip for the weekend. But they couldn't have done it without her. The way she could handle _Miss Marvel_? No one could match the flawless image and movements that fooled all the senses save touch. What might have been a public murder or a high-risk operation turned into a bait-and-trap where as few people as possible were in the range of Thompson, and not one person more than necessary. Maria was right; the mission was short and sweet, and thus it was executed correctly.

"Proud of you, Kamala." Jenn placed an encouraging hand on the fifteen-year old girl's shoulder, seeing the Pakistani-American woman blush with the compliment, as she should. Kamala had every right to be proud of herself as well as being recognized. "Because of you, many potential victims never knew what danger they were in because Kevin was focused on Miss Marvel and Miss Marvel alone. No one died, no one got hurt, and the target _walked_ right into our trap thanks to your ingenuity and efforts. Today, you made a difference." The blush on Kamala's face was even more apparent.

"Does this mean I get a uniform?" The young woman asked, looking up from her station, an electric smile splitting her face. A fangirl's dream come true.

"It will be ready in a few years." Jenn snarked back, eliciting a '_hey!_' from the teenager-in-question while Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark snorted from where he stood, coordinating with the German Government to help defuse the situation at _Talent_, the _Hotel Teuton_, the driver of the BMW, and the woman who had been Kilgrave's sex slave, one Gretchen Schmidt. Dozens if not hundreds of people had been '_Kilgraved_' (Jessica Jones' word), and no doubt there were those that the Avengers would never know of that had been influenced, persuaded, suggested, or told what to do. It was a mess that was solved, and now the process of healing could begin. While Tony hadn't been thrilled at being put in the back seat, he understood that Iron Man was too visible, and the risk of hostages or something terrible happening meant he wouldn't be flying into combat. Jenn had given him the distraction option if it had been needed, a flyby or a press-the-flesh event if the public needed a distraction or a lure, but thankfully nothing like that was necessary.

Captain Steven Grant Rogers had led the small team from the ground with no issues whatsoever (no surprises there), while Commander Nathanial Troy Dugan held the high ground instead of Clinton Francis Barton since Hawkeye was completely deaf without his high-grade hearing implants connected to a spot behind his ears. Actually, Jenn had been surprised that Clint could talk normally even while completely deaf, no doubt years of practice for whatever reasons to make such a thing necessary. She hadn't asked if Barton had been born deaf or there was an incident; that wasn't polite. He had adapted and overcome the situation so well that most of the Avengers and the support staff hadn't even been _aware_ that Clint was deaf save Natasha Romanoff. Nat had been regaled as a bus driver, but hadn't minded at all, knowing she would be responsible for the safety and delivery of the target; something she had no issues in doing. Even when roles were changed and different people given different tasks that they normally didn't do, everyone performed to expectation and then some.

A victory over a madman who thought himself a god.

"Maria? I'm going to head down to the cargo deck to check on everyone." Walters told the SHIELD Agent that handled electronic intelligence for the mission, which little having been needed but the woman's experience was a necessity. While Jenn was in charge of the mission, she had never done anything like this before. Before she went to the stairs that would take her to the lower level, she looked to Tony, and tipped her head subtly towards Kamala, the unspoken order given. Both Stark and Hill saw it, Khan busy listening to air traffic control and monitoring the radar to see.

They knew what was going to happen next, Kamala left intentionally oblivious.

The CEO of _Avengers, Incorporated_ headed down the steep staircase that took her to the cargo area where the rest of the Avengers were assembled. Clint and Nat were no longer dressed in their disguises, systematically cleaning and maintaining their personal weaponry; obviously a habit of theirs. Captain Steve Rogers, Commander Nate Dugan, and Lieutenant Sam Wilson were talking amongst themselves, but each of them were fully armed with their weapons and ready for a fight as they kept an eye on the disguised United Parcel Service truck that had been fabricated into a soundproof box-on-wheels with gloss brown automobile paint with goldenrod yellow stripes and letters added to match that of an official UPS delivery truck. Jessica Campbell Jones was sitting on one of the hull-side seats, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, watching the step van warily as she wrung her hands; an obvious nervous habit to deal with stress. Doctor Robert Bruce Banner and Doctor Henry Jonathan 'Hank' Pym were consulting one another over by the medical suite that was meant to be a mobile emergency room in case one of the members got hurt. They didn't have a dedicated Medical Doctor yet, though both Bruce and Hank knew a fair deal of medical expertise, more than enough to keep someone alive for a couple of hours to transfer them to a better facility. There were also other reasons.

"Hey, Jessica." Jenn went to the raven-haired woman, kneeling before the sitting woman to look her in the eye. "I'm going to give Kevin is ultimatum. But I wanted to offer you the chance to do it if you wish to take it." That had the twenty-six year old private investigator lock up slightly, that fear returning. "You don't have to, and I will not hold it against you if you said no. But if you need any last words or insults, this would be your chance."

"I…" Jessica looked to the UPS truck for a long, _long_ moment, the silence thick and heavy as a survivor weighed the risk and reward of confronting the monster she had escaped, the one that undoubtedly lived within her head. "I might bungle it." Jones admitted.

"That's fine. I wanted to give you a chance to confront him _honestly_, without having to worry about him controlling you." Walters replied softly, reaching over and placing her hand on Jessica's wringing ones. "I wish I could say I know what you're going through, but I don't. I can imagine it, but I don't know it. But at the very least I wanted to afford you the opportunity for your own rescue mission."

"Okay. I'll do it." Jessica whispered, her voice barely strong enough as she stood from her seat. Jennifer looked over to Captain America, and gave Steve a nod. She then took the _Miss Marvel_ headset that would let Jessica 'talk' to Kevin Thompson via the Life Model Decoy drone still locked within the soundproof room, giving her the assurances that she wouldn't be controlled, knowing it to be true because Jennifer herself had taken the risk of contacting Kilgrave to make sure no one else was threatened. Walters took that risk because she knew Maria Hill would knock her ass out in a few seconds while Tony assumed control of the mission if they suspected Thompson could in fact influence her over the transmission. She was the easiest to defeat, thus she took the risk of potentially being controlled while everyone else around her knew what she was doing and why. Now knowing that they could safely talk to Thompson, Jenn would let Jessica have her druthers first, having been under the mans' compulsion for nine months and obviously still living with that shadow five months later.

"If it's too much, hang up. No one will fault you at all." Jenn reassured the younger woman, looking at Jessica. "Just because he can't control you with his voice doesn't mean he can't get into your head, either. I want this to be an opportunity for you to heal, not get worse."

"I understand. And thank you." The private investigator took the headset and slipped it on, closing her eyes for a moment before activating the Augmented Reality Overlay vision that would let her 'see' what the drone saw as she faced her demons.

Some battles couldn't be fought with friends, and some monsters had to be faced alone.

* * *

The darkness was vanquished as Kevin Carmichael Thompson saw the lighted image of Jessica Jones appear inside the inky blackness of the soundproof room he was trapped in. He had long since given up pounding on the steel walls and calling for help or escape. He was stuck, and there was no way out.

"Another ghost?" Kilgrave asked, seeing the… what did they call it? Life Model Decoy? Standing there, a mere image standing in a rigid pose, no movement to it. The sudden light made him blink at his eyes until his vision cleared from the illumination, but he saw the image of Jessica dressed in normal clothes with a leather jacket on.

"_It's me this time."_ Her voice came from the holographic image, though the image itself didn't move.

"Prove it." Kevin asked with a snarl.

"_I don't have to prove a GODDAMN thing to you, you narcissistic piece of shit!"_ The tone was flooded with violence and rage. Oh yes, this was certainly Jessica. Everything in the words said _personal_. _"I'm only fucking talking to you because… I need it."_

"I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?" Thompson asked, his voice cruel.

"_You gave me nothing, nothing save torment and nightmares."_ The American-accented voice replied, its resolve dying slowly. _"How could you give what you never have, Kilgrave? Everything of yours was taken with a word, and all you ever gave were words; not promises, not assurances. Whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. You lived a life without trust or love because you never had to work for it, to build something with your own two hands. You cheated at life with every step you took. That room you're in is one of your own making, built by your own damn hands."_

"Ah, ever the bleeding heart." Kevin smiled, though he supposed she couldn't see it. "Always looking out for others."

"_Kilgrave, you are absolutely without a redeemable quality."_ Jessica's tone was filled with soft scorn. _"You had the world in your hand, but you were nothing but a petty rapist and thief. Imagine the lives you could have saved, the lives you could have changed. You could have stopped wars, fought for the truth, be recognized as a hero. Instead, you played little tin god amongst those you thought inferior to you, using your abilities for your own selfish needs and amusements. How could you say you had anything when you owned _nothing_. Not one day of work was done by your own hands. Hell, your crimes weren't done by you either, the petty tyrant that rules out of fearful authority. You never had to struggle, to endure, to push yourself through tough times. Now the walls have closed in, and the tank was never filled with anything that you could use but your voice. Without it, you're _nothing_."_

"When I get out of here…" Kilgrave began.

"_Is that what you want?" _Jones interrupted him. _"To be set free?"_

"Yes. Of course." He hated this dark prison with no escape.

"_Then here's the offer, take it or leave it."_ The image told him, never having moved at all. _"To pay for your crimes, the sentence is _silence_."_

"What?" Kevin wasn't sure he heard that right.

"_If you agree,"_ Jessica continued, _"the people here will gas your cell until you are unconscious. You will be put under and will undergo surgery to remove your vocal chords."_ Thompson felt his mouth go dry at that. _"You will wake up in an undisclosed location at an undisclosed time unmolested save for the surgery. Then you will have the rest of your life to live making up for what you've done _in silence_." _The image stared at him without expression.

"And if I refuse?"

"_What the fuck do you think will happen?"_

Kevin's eyes narrowed at the image he couldn't control. A life of silence? Without his marvelous gift? Jessica accused him of never having suffered, of never working a day in his life. He was about to refute her, but he also recalled he hadn't gotten more than a Fifth Grade education, and never actually held a job before. Without his gift… he would be some mute menial worker in some croppie portion of wherever, no doubt under surveillance to make sure he stayed that way. The sentence wasn't silence; it was _permanent anonymous mediocrity. _

"When I get out of here," Kilgrave began, his voice growling, "I will hunt you down and make you squeal." Thompson threatened. "You will tell me who your little friends are so I can butcher their families before their eyes, forced to watch as they slit their own throats and…"

The step van lurched, and Kilgrave was almost thrown off his feet.

"What's going on?" Thompson asked as he held himself up with one of the walls, looking at the image of Jessica.

"_You made your choice, Kilgrave."_ The tone was… saddened, sorrowful. _"You decided to threaten instead of accept, and the order was given. You're being let off… right now."_

"And then what?" The Englishman asked, his tone scornful. He could feel the box move slightly with him in it.

"_Kilgrave, we're currently in the middle of nowhere above the Atlantic Ocean."_ Jessica informed him, her tone still the same. _"They're going to open the ramp of the airplane we're on and drop it, and you, off of it and plunge you into the Atlantic. You're… going to die."_

"WAIT! I change my mind!" Kevin Thompson shouted at the hologram as he felt the box vibrate, feeling as if it were tilting towards one direction. "Tell them! Tell them I'll do it!"

"_The order was made, it's too late."_ He could hear grief in those words, _his_ Jessica saddened by what was happening. He knew it; she loved him. _"You had your chance, Kilgrave, and you used it for petty threats. You…"_ there was a pause, _"you could have told me you loved me, could have told me you actually cared. I might have actually believed you."_ Those words were soft, almost a whisper. _"Instead, all you could think about was being Kilgrave."_ The box shuttered to a stop, almost throwing Thompson off his feet again. _"The ramp's lowered, and you're about to be cast away."_

"Don't let them do it! Don't let them kill me!" Kevin begged the image, nearly touching it. "I love you, Jessica! Only you!"

"_I wished you had said that before, before you knew you were going to die."_ The voice responded, still soft. _"Five seconds. I'll stay with you to the very end, just like that rooftop, if only so no one else has to suffer you."_ Kevin remembered that rooftop, when he had given Jessica the chance to leave but didn't take it. He thought she had stayed because she loved him. He had never asked why. But now he knew.

And then gravity went strange.

He was falling inside a box, never touching the walls as he rose from the floor and hovered somewhere in the middle, his arms and legs flailing for purchase as he felt himself tumbling in a shell, the image still with him.

"_Goodbye, Kilgrave. If it's any consolation, I'll be seeing you in every nightmare for the rest of my life."_ Jessica said as the image began to sputter and die, the lighted image fizzling before him as Kevin spun and screamed in darkness, only feeling as if he were floating in a sea of black, without the wind or sight to comfort him or let him know how soon he had.

When the step van crashed into the Atlantic, Kevin Carmichael Thompson slammed into the steel wall of his soundproof prison at terminal velocity, killing him instantly before the vehicle sank and slipped into the dark abyss of the waves.

* * *

Author's Note: All that work up for such a short snatch-and-grab? In the real world, that's how raids works; hours or days planning, hours or days prepping, training, doing mock-ups, a few hours for transportation, arriving and the set up all for about five to ten minutes of heart-racing excitement. What I wanted to illustrate was a little bit of _the work_, as well as what goes into it. But it doesn't end with the capture, either.

The man with the intense eyes from Bristol was in fact Clint Barton under cover. But Kilgrave didn't know that, so it wasn't physically mentioned.

United States Navy Warlock Duke Electronic Warfare System - American Vets of Iraq and Afghanistan will recognize this piece of equipment; it is a remote control signal denial system that 'snows' frequencies to prevent receiver/transmissions, everything from cell phones, beepers, pagers, radios, and a lot of frequencies in between. This piece of equipment has saved a lot of American and Middle Eastern lives denying Remote Controlled Improvised Explosive Devices.

Having Nat bop her head to Queen's _Another One Bites The Dust_ was just fun.

I stole a line from _X-Men 2: X-Men United_.

No, Kamala wasn't told what would actually happen with Kilgrave. Yes, she's smart enough to figure it out on her own, but no one tells a fifteen year old they're about to dump a human monster into the middle of the ocean.

Honestly, the two choices (silence or death) were about the only things once could do with Kilgrave. He would never be able to hit a courtroom or grace a jail cell with his gift.


	19. In The Season Of Wither, IV

_Really, Disney owns just about everything. _

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, September 17, 2012**

Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark was working on his latest Iron Man suit, the Mark XVII, when Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., (CEO, Avengers) walked into the section of the Penthouse Workshop that was dedicated to his tinkering. He currently had a holographic wireframe diagram exploded in front of him as he looked over the various components and materials to design what he thought of as the 'Heartbreaker', capable of delivering faster blasts from its repulsors at greater quantities of power. Jenn was wearing more relaxed attire as oppose to her normal daily feminine business suits that she jokingly called 'her Avenger uniform'. Dressed in a simple blouse and slacks, she approached him while looking upon the diagram.

"Do you ever take a day off, Tony?" Jenn asked, her tone holding a little mirth to it to let him know she wasn't chastising him. They had come back from Germany in the early morning hours, and most everyone was taking an easy pace for the day after the success against Kilgrave. That man scared him, and rightfully so. To be utterly controlled without any kind of resistance or defense? The man was better off dead, though he knew Walters had hiccups about the thought of putting someone in the grave. She had made up the option of removing Kevin Thompson's vocal chords as an option, and the Avengers had approved of it as an alternative recourse even if none of them believed the man would agree to it. Yet having a primary option that wouldn't involve the sanctioned if less-than-legal death of an untried man meant that the Avengers look as if they entertained other options even under the worse of circumstances. Tony had agreed to it even if it hadn't thrilled him.

"I take lots of days off, but I devote days to certain exercises so I'm tackling problems instead of focusing on just one thing and letting other things get away from me." He had made that mistake before and it had nearly cost him his life. Tony always made sure that every model of Iron Man suit had the name '_Ho Yinsen_' inscribed on it somewhere as a reminder of the man who had shared that cave with him, the Afghani engineer who had saved his life not once but multiple times. Tony had truly wanted to bring Yinsen back to his family, never knowing that they had been killed. The man had died on his feet, at peace with his decision, believing he would be reunited with his loved ones. Because of him, it led Tony down the path that made him the Iron Man. "What do you have in mind?"

"I was thinking of Kamala." The lawyer replied as she took to a nearby chair, where Tony usually sat to think when not standing on the holographic projection platform that he usually work from. "She got us that victory without so much as one extra person being controlled and zero casualties as well. Without her, it would have been a lot more difficult and a good deal messier."

"Agreed." The billionaire replied, all points correct in his mind. Kamala Aisha Khan was a hell of a kid with an intellect that probably would have rivaled his own back at that age. As of now, the only things he had over her were experience and money. And that gap would likely close up one day. Tony found himself not minding so much. "You're thinking of something to reward her?"

"Absolutely. But just showering her with gifts is a little childish, I think." Jenn said, easing back in the chair. "She did something meaningful, the reward should be meaningful as well. The _Miss Marvel Project_ just got its first shakedown run on a real mission and performed great. We literally caught a man in a trap he walked right into willingly without having to put one person into harms' way. Without it, we would have likely been forced to take a long-distance shot and risk Kilgrave potentially surviving for a few seconds and endangering everyone around him. She saved _lives_, Tony."

"Yeah, she did." He had watched Kamala work her magic on the _Gungnir_, using Haptic Interface Gloves to control her _Miss Marvel_ drones that had provided surveillance inside of _Talent_ while the Life Model Decoy of Jessica Jones had moved about in such a convincing manner that it fooled Thompson completely; a man who would have potentially picked up discrepancies. Tony had to keep from laughing at that one enticing comment that Kamala had delivered in Jessica's voice, something about some things being better enjoyed in the dark. That wasn't something a fifteen-year old should have said (especially to an adult male) yet it had been utterly _perfect_ for the situation; an alluring promise of a predator pulling in its prey. Jenn was right; just dumping gifts on Kamala's lap, while nice, wasn't the necessary impact that was needed. Oh, he knew the young woman _called_ herself an Avenger (_Avengers version 2.0_, along with Nate Dugan, Sam Wilson, and James Rhodes) around Stark Tower, but didn't breath _a word_ of it anywhere else. "You know, that's something."

"What?" Walters asked, looking at him.

"Avengers 2.0." Tony tapped a holographic '_save_' button as he rubbed at his chin, thumbing his goatee thoughtfully. "Any business would tell you that you've always got to keep an eye on the future; future business, future customers, future profits, future problems… and a legacy." Jenn was still looking at him, not interrupting. "We got showcased with the Battle of New York, all of us with our faces and identities known throughout the world save Banner. Right now, people think there are only six of us, public and media, friend and foe. Give people something to look at, give our enemies something to worry about."

"Throwing a fifteen-year old into the spotlight is a _horrible_ idea, Tony." The Esquire deadpanned, her tone level but hard. "The only workaround on that is to make her look and sound older and give her a false name. That would be a lie she would have to carry for years, and that's not exactly a reward now, is it?" Tony _hmmm'ed_ at that, concluding that Jenn probably had a point on that. "I'm still not thrilled with having her as a support member for the Avengers due to her age. All it takes is one member of the media to see her walking in and out of one of our aircraft to start digging. That's a situation I would like to avoid for at least the next five years or so. At least give her the chance to go to college."

Well, that was something there.

"What grade is she in?" Tony asked, his tone building up. Jenn just looked at him as if he had missed the whole point of the conversation. "Jenn, I went to MIT at sixteen and she's at least as smart as I was at that age. You went to college early. Bruce went to college early. Someone says that about a person, they instantly get respect." It was heavily implied that anyone that went to college before eighteen was likely a genius. While he didn't know if Kamala had done any IQ tests, Tony did know that she had scored a sixteen hundred on her Scholastic Aptitude Test during the summer, the young woman elated and practically prancing around the Tower with the results of her summer internship. The smartest members of the Avengers went to college early, and sending Kamala to college in the same fashion would certainly highlight that, wouldn't it?

"That's something we can look into." Jenn nodded, mulling it over. "She did just start her Junior Year at fifteen, so it's likely possible we could have her in college by next fall. Sponsor her admittance and tuition would certainly make her feel like we recognize her contributions and intend to groom her. The Khans will be thrilled." Oh yeah, that's right. Parents.

"Didn't they want her to be a Medical Doctor?" Tony asked breezily. He had been more paying attention to shuttling that idea out the door with thoughts of tech and money. Medical Doctors were a dime a dozen. Inventors, real ones, were rare and precious things meant to be molded and crafted to bring about a new generation of advancements for mankind.

"I think we disillusioned them of that idea. Something about me mentioning that fourteen years of education and residency wouldn't leave a lot of time to have children." The lawyer replied. Oh yeah, he remembered that. Not a comment a man would be allowed to make, but women had their own rules after all. A conservative/traditionalist Muslim-American household likely expected a young woman to get married at eighteen and probably having a baby before their next birthday. Well, probably a quarter of all women did that, didn't they? "With an SAT score and her school transcripts, it shouldn't be too hard to find a college that would accept her. Coles Academy is one of the top High Schools in the country and she's crushing it. Throw in the gold medal she got at the Tri-State Area Science Competition and I don't doubt we'll have colleges beating each other for the opportunity. Tony?"

"Yes?" He was listening. Had been the whole time.

"You _can't_ do this, no matter how much you want to and how much Kamala would love to see you do it." Jenn told him, getting the billionaire to frown. "You're the Iron Man. If you push? Someone is going to start connecting dots, and we don't need people thinking Kamala is worthy of a kidnapping and ransom, do we?"

"Yeah, okay. Good point." That was a too-telling point there. "That would go for you as well."

"I know. But we have people that can do the paperwork that won't be noticed." Walters assured him. "We've got Doctor Selvig, Doctor Foster, Doctor Pym, Bruce, and Hope. All have degrees and _Alma Maters_, and would look like they're grooming Americans instead of creating Avengers. I can also hire talent for this sort of thing, too. That's actually what Dad did for Bruce once he started skipping grades. I got picked up through my transcripts and SAT scores. Do… you remember how your father did it?" Jenn's tone was cautious. She knew his opinion and views on Howard Stark.

"Name, plus scores." Actually, Tony wasn't sure. He never asked, though he assumed the boarding school he went to probably had something to do with it, too. As much as that had actually helped him achieve better, that had always been a bitter pill. "I'll keep hands off. But I get credit for the idea."

"Fair enough." The lawyer smiled.

* * *

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, September 29, 2012**

Kamala Aisha Khan was standing in the Avengers' Gym along with a few of its members to test out a few of her latest inventions.

"So, after that Germany mission," the fifteen-year old teenager began as she looked upon Captain Steven Grant Rogers, Natasha Alianovna Romanoff, Clinton Francis Barton, Lieutenant Samuel Thomas Wilson, and Lieutenant Commander Nathanial Troy Dugan, "I had a couple of ideas that might help you out to keep your edge."

"Did we clone Tony when I wasn't looking?" Clint whispered loudly to Nat, the redhead standing next to the archer as Sam snorted at the comment. Kamala ignored it with practiced ease; after a summer internship under Tony Stark, she had skin thick enough to deflect small caliber rounds.

"The problem is that with the Avengers so televised throughout the media, especially with the Battle of New York," the young woman continued, "people who think taking you down is a good idea have a pretty good idea of your capabilities. Now no one knows of Mongoose or Falcon yet," she looked over to the men in question, "so we have that to our advantage. But someone that wants to take a crack of the title will prepare themselves, or at least think they've prepared themselves. To ensure survivability and success, we need to keep you guys on top of your game and throw in a few tricks that they won't expect." With a smile, Kamala went to the first case she had brought down to use at the gym's range, opening it up to reveal a red Nomex-and-leather left-handed glove that everyone recognized as being Captain America's.

"First, I introduce to you the power glove."

The fifteen year old slipped the glove onto her own left hand as she looked to Steve's shield, which was sitting by the Captain's feet. _Perfect_, Khan thought as she pressed a button on the side of her first knuckle, designed to be out of the way during most incidences such as punching, grabbing, making a fist, or holding a gun. The button clicked at the Vibranium-and-steel shield flew up and towards Kamala as she raised her arm to 'catch' it, the shield connecting to her arm via the long-sleeve glove she wore. Everyone looked a little shocked at the act, none of them expecting it.

"Now," Kamala pushed the button again and the shield slipped off into her hand, "this glove utilizes a frequency in the electromagnetic range that's attuned to the shield. I installed a small device to that frequency so that whenever you need your shield and for some reason it's not on you," Kamala took off the glove and handed it over to the Captain, "you can recall it to you within a distance of about a hundred meters. I… would be careful if there are things in the way when you snatch it back though."

"That is useful." Rogers said, his tone pleased as he put on the glove, looking a little out of place while dressed in normal civilian attire. "Can't count how many times I would have to go back for it or someone else tried picking it up."

"Well that's not the only thing it does." Kamala told him. "The other two buttons are what I call 'the Funnel' and 'the Umbrella'. The red one retrieves the shield. The yellow one," Steve was looking at the glove and the three buttons, "activates the electromagnet in your glove and uses your shield as a ferrous array to attract metal objects… specifically bullets." That had everyone look at her. "Your shield protects you _now_, but tap that button and you can have rounds angle towards you as oppose to someone else within a ten degree cone at a distance of ten meters. Just enough to provide a teammate a second chance, make an enemy miss, or turn yourself into a bullet magnet where others might not be able to get into cover." That had the Captain nodding. "The green button is the Umbrella. Again with the electromagnet and your shield, it instead provides a blanket that 'pushes' objects away. It will shift incoming metal objects by about ten degrees through an inverted cone of electromagnetic energy to repulse incoming rounds directed towards you, veering them away. If you need to protect several people and a thirty-inch diameter shield isn't enough, the Umbrella should give a couple of feet influence in case you need to put yourself in between a shooter and a group of people."

"That's pretty incredible." Natasha replied, getting the others to nod.

"Well, it doesn't _stop_ the rounds," Kamala interjected, "and the ones that go past are still active rounds and can still hit people or objects. But it should buy someone a few extra chances in case you need to make a stand. The battery needs to be recharged every mission, and you probably have… about thirty seconds or so for the Funnel and Umbrella, and a few dozen uses for the retrieval. I'm probably going to make a battery cartridge so you can swap the out mid-mission in case of something like a Battle of New York scenario where the fight lasts for something longer than ten to fifteen minutes. But for now, you have a working prototype that I had Major Hill test with her pistol to make sure it worked in the lab."

"Thank you." Steve replied, studying the glove and pressing the button, the shield snapping to his arm.

"Miss Romanoff? I made for you something similar, but more in accordance with how you fight." Kamala pulled out a pair of black Nomex-and-leather gloves that had a pair of metal bands around the wrists. "I know that you carry a few tools and items to level the playing field, so I took a page out of that book and made for you something similar to what I did for Captain Rogers' shield and made a retrieval device. Except you aren't grabbing a shield.

"You're grabbing _weapons_."

Kamala smiled as she slipped on one of the gloves and touched a button a the wrist, and then pointed her hand at the group standing in front of her. A pocket knife came flying out first, followed by a Glock 19 that the young woman had attached to her wrist, her smile triumphant as disarmed Clint Barton. Then a Springfield Model XD came towards her and Kamala squeaked as she dodged the gun as it zipped by her and almost got hit in the face with a Ruger as she quickly deactivated the wristcuff she called the 'Widow's Web' before another pocket knife could come flying at her, falling to the ground with all the other firearms.

"Okay, note to self; be careful turning this on in a room fulled of armed people." The young woman replied sheepishly, looking at the clatter of firearms and knives on the floor. It was like she tripped and kicked over a table at a gun show. "There might be a bug or two to it, but it works. It'll strip weapons in pockets, holsters, and hands. And for weapons on slings, it will generally yank them forward and onto the ground and even drag them about a little bit. I had to apologize to Major Hill for that one." The poor Agent had been dragged across the lab for about four or five feet before Kamala turned off the Widow's Web, apologizing profusely trying to strip a slung M-4 from the woman who had been her test subject for the device. "I also wouldn't turn it on when someone's actively firing at you. I didn't make you an Umbrella because straight shots and near-misses are still a concern, and you could still be veering rounds towards others. I thought stealth disarming would be better suited for you."

"It is. That's pretty amazing." The Black Widow smiled. "I can certainly use this. Thank you, Kamala." The young woman was trying not to blush at the compliments.

"As for Mister Barton," Kamala she shrugged her shoulders, "whoever made your quiver was legit; I couldn't think of a thing to improve it. I didn't want to throw more quivers on your back because sooner or later it becomes more of a hassle than a help, so instead I improved the _arrows_ that you use."

"I make my own arrowheads." Hawkeye defended instantly.

"I didn't say arrowheads." Kamala smiled as she pulled out a small fifteen inch carbon fiber rod with fletchings at the end from the case at her feet. "I said _arrows_." With a flick of her wrist, the fifteen inch rod extended into a thirty-inch arrow shaft. "I give to you collapsible arrows; half the size, double the quantity." She handed the arrow to Clint Barton, who looked at it with some surprise, his hands going over the object for feel and stiffness. "Same materials, same weight, with a light spray of a ferrous coating on the interior of the four pieces that slide out for rigidity and flight. Note that the pieces separate and slide onto the back end? If you want to collapse it, you have to twist it first before pushing it in so it doesn't do so with your targets. I based the design of your own arrows, so they're your preferred length, weight, manufacture, and fletchings. All I did was figure out a way to make it shorter."

"That's cool." Sam Wilson said, nodding in appreciation.

"Yeah, it is." Clint agreed. "I'm going to test these out and see if any adjustments are needed, but that's certainly something. Collapsible arrows." Those last words were held in a tone of slight wonder.

"Okay, Lieutenant Wilson. I got you something, too." From the case she pulled out a drone that looked o be the size and shape of an eagle. "I give to you the _Alan Parsons Project_."

Nate Dugan snorted at that.

"_Eye In The Sky_." Natasha informed Steve, who didn't get the reference. "It's a song from the Eighties."

"And that's exactly what this is; surveillance drone with limited intelligence capabilities, sensor array, and a control module for operations and view." Kamala explained as she set the bird-line drone on the ground before picking up a small bracer that contained a touchscreen and connected it on her left arm by slipping her hand through the loops. "Here we go." Touching the activation button, the drone lifted up to the air on small repulsors, hovering for a moment before Kamala touched an altitude adjustment, letting the drone go up towards the ceiling. "I picked the form so that if anyone were to look up, they would think it a bird-of-prey on the wind and not a surveillance drone, but it's capable to tracking an automobile racing down the interstate, can select and track a target based on infrared or thermal imaging, and can maneuver in urban environments. I call him Archimedes."

"Isn't that Merlin's owl?" Barton asked. That surprised Kamala that he would recognize the reference. She had gotten it from the Disney movie _Sword in the Stone_.

"Yes." She handed the control unit to Sam, who looked at it, impressed. "I can configure it for multiple drones, which we can have extras on the _Gungnir_, but Archie can fold up and be stored on your backpack until needed. So if someone rabbits and we're too busy elsewhere, you can set Archie on them. Plus a small bird is a little less obvious than a big falcon." Wilson was already playing with the controller. "I guess someone's getting in touch with their inner-gamer.

"And then I have yours here, Commander." Kamala went to the second case, opening it up to reveal several armor pieces. "This I didn't make, not really. But I had Miss Walters have it fabricated from the company that makes it since I'm not a chemist or an armorer. North American Development Group holds that contract, so we ordered a set made to specifications based on your body dimensions." She held up a molded chest piece.

"Body armor?" Nate asked.

"Dragonskin." Kamala replied, getting both Sam and Nate to look at each other before looking at her. "Yes, I studied all the controversies and fraudulent claims before we bought a set and had Major Hill dump an entire magazine from a .308 version of an M-4 at thirty feet away with zero penetration. We pulled it apart and since the company, Pinnacle, is defunct, we can actually fabricate it without license or royalties since it lost its armor endorsement and finally their company. The issue was heat; the Army kept saying that the heat would separate the disks and render it ineffective. So we stuck it in a room and cooked it to a hundred and fifty degrees for an hour and took a look at it."

"Did the disks separate?" That came from Sam, highlighting the main issue why Dragonskin hadn't been adopted by the American Military or any other official military. It could be bought by civilians and law enforcement, but the large buyer had declined.

"After forty-five minutes, in which the interior didn't reach the necessary temperature of separation until thirty-five minutes. And this was in a large microwave, not outside environments." Kamala had been rather peeved at the discovery. Politics had gotten involved, no doubt. "I wasn't about to hand off sub-standard equipment, so we affixed the disks with a high-temperature flexible epoxy to correct the issue, and then we ramped the temperature to two hundred degrees for four hours without issues. All of the equipment has been manufactured to spec after we fixed the glue, and now you come with _real_ body armor, not just a chest piece. Still lighter than the common Scalable Plate Carrier for the complete set of chest piece, arm guards, and shin guards. Still working on ideas for Miss Romanoff, but a cat suit doesn't leave much room for improvements or the imagination." That had Natasha smirk. "I guess it could be worse. Black Canary dances around in a leather jacket, a corset, and fishnets. That's just stupid."

"Comic books, kid. Not a field manual." Dugan inputted, getting Wilson to chuckle.

"Says Captain America's sidekick." Kamala shot right back, making everyone laugh, Nate included.

* * *

**Unofficial Designation: "The Farm", Camp Peary, Virginia, October 19, 2012**

Today was the day.

Jessica Miriam Drew was too giddy to sleep as she looked over to see her bunkmate, Doctor Doreen Aleene Green, having the same issue. It was approximately three in the morning on the day of the final testing; a week of grueling tests, scenarios, and lack of sleep. It was called Butcher's Week after what it made the candidates feel like afterwards, going a full week on but a couple of hours of sleep a day with only half the food and about ten times the intensity. Half of the testing was to see who would crack and fail… and who would dig deep and pull their way through.

It was Hell in Virginia, but now it was the last day.

"I feel like one gigantic bruise." Doreen told the younger woman, the Veterinarian practically hanging off of her top bunk, one arm dangling. "I think my toe nails hurt after that SERE Course." The Survive, Escape, Resist, and Evade Course was a day-long event in which the cadets had to escape a facility while enduring physiological torture and sensory deprivation, and then experiencing the joy of being hunted down by men. With dogs. Jessica could fully and legally admit that water boarding was fucking horrifying, and that was done by people who weren't actually _trying_ to traumatize her, but put her in a place where she knew what to expect and how to deal with it. God forbid how much worse it was for terrorists and insurgents in Guantanamo Bay. She then had to break out of her prison cell (and it was a real prison cell) by bum-rushing a guard and knocking him out, stealing his uniform and locking him in her own cell before making her way out.

She ran for about an hour a the sound of men with dogs at her heels. Jessica never once considered it might have been on speaker to instill that feeling when she had been fleeing for her life before she had been considered a 'success'. She had returned to the 'victory' tent to a meal and breaking down in the corner and crying. She hadn't been the only one; male or female. Doreen had come back twenty minutes later looking as if she had gotten in a fight with a rabid bear with a pass, and Jessica had held her as the Doctor had her own little breakdown. The exercise taught them how to endure, how to survive, how to look for opportunity, and to teach them that _if I survived this, I can survive anything_.

That meal, a simple affair, had been like a banquet. Biscuits and butter had never tasted so good.

"What's next again? The exam? More physical labor… I mean training?" Jessica was pretty sure it had been a week. She prayed to God it had been a week. It felt like a month, but she had honestly lost track of a few days between the nighttime alarms, the tests, the forced marches, the lack of food and sleep, and the psychological testing while trying to pickpocket the trainers and do clandestine meets and drops while barely able to pick up her feet. God she had better pass after all this.

"I might sleep though the next torture session. That'll show them." Doreen replied, getting a weak chuckle out of the younger woman. "Ugh, just thinking of how proud Mom and Dad were when I got the offer. I expected a lot, but this exceeded it. By a lot."

"Yeah." She hadn't been able to talk to Mom, Dad, or her sisters, which was understandable. Obviously, no one needed a phone call hearing _they're shooting around me so I can get use to the sound and fear of bullets_ as a day's description. That would rank right up with _I got water boarded today, Mom!_ Thankfully, Natasha Romanoff mentioned that there would be harsh treatment and some rather grueling times, though she hadn't elaborated on what they would be, figuring that they would change it around so as to prepare candidates better. At least there was no physical stuff other than the hand-to-hand combat in which everyone wore gloves, mouthpieces, and groin protectors for the guys. Jessica found out she was actually pretty good at it, the best of the girls. Having two sisters to romp around with so near her age probably helped that. "My Mom would probably flip her shit, but I suspect she probably has an idea or two that something like this occurs." _That's because my Mom has two superspies as employees_, Jessica thought to herself. No one knew. Even when there was a towel on her face and a water bottle hanging over her head, Jessica hadn't mentioned Jennifer Walters' name as her mothers; she had stuck with Alicia Drew. She didn't know if the CIA knew or not, but no one had said anything. She just assumed that everyone was told not to say a word amongst the trainers, or no one knew at all. Both worked just fine with her. "Twenty-four more hours. I think."

"I hope." Doreen said from atop her top bunk, not at all sounding as if she regretted admitting to it. "First meal after graduation? Biggest, meatiest cheeseburger I can find. To think I watched my weight before. Fuck that. I'm eating like a pig with a smile on my face. I can see my ribs."

"The CIA Diet. We should write a book and make money. Everyone else does." That got a chuckle from the Veterinarian. "No food, no sleep, grueling sessions of work outs, tests, runs, and torture. Slim down in one week flat." Jessica had lost ten pounds over the week along with the other ten pounds since training started, and while she wasn't skeletal, she was certainly less fleshy. She hadn't been big or chubby before (she was a SoCal girl, after all), but now she had muscle definition. Her bras were certainly too big for her now. "That Jillian chick can kiss my bony ass in Hell."

"That's the spirit." There was a yawn with that answer. "Please let me have a power nap for like twenty minutes. Too restless to sleep, to tired to be snide." Jessica knew exactly what her roommate meant. Her body was like one big bruise that cried for sleep while her mind wouldn't shut up, too excited to see this hell through. As bad as it was… she wanted that accomplishment, to say that the Central Intelligence Agency threw the worst at her and she came out on top. A part of her craved that accomplishment and recognition. "What's your first meal?"

"Mom makes the meanest tacos I've ever had. Dips the tortillas in oil and salt, practically saturates the hamburger in oil and salsa. So dripping with grease it will give you a heart attack just looking at it." Jessica once ate so many of those tacos that she had gone to the bathroom to throw up, and then went back for more. They were so disgustingly good that she could practically feel her mouth flood with saliva and the taste of those tacos. "Yeah, my Mom's tacos. Me, her, my sisters. My uncle, too. I think you'd like Bruce." Ugh, the sleep wanted to hit her in the face tugging her eyelids down. No one knew who Doctor Robert Bruce Banner was save in intellectual circles. No one knew he was the Hulk. "Tacos and game night. Taboo and Scrabble are loads of fun when you got several people involved and the trolling comes out. You should come. You'd love New York." In the three months since the Farm began, Jessica and Doreen had bonded together, and the younger woman had a hard time remembering if she ever had a friendship like she had with Doreen Green. Her friends in High School had been just that; High School friends. Doreen was something more, perhaps because they were adults but also because of where they were at, helping each other out and being there for one another during the training. If Jessica could select one person to know about her life, it would be Doctor Doreen Green.

"Sounds fun." Doreen replied sleepily. "Yep, passing out. I'll try not to fall on you when I wake up."

"No promises." Jessica replied as she drifted to sleep as well, thinking of Jennifer's gloriously greasy tacos, the thought of food being what she fell asleep to.

Ten minutes later, reveille woke them up.

* * *

Author's Notes: I normally don't do 'filler' chapters, but the two highlights were Kamala giving out items you'll see in the future (Cap's Shield Retrieval was from the movies, and the drone that Sam uses is the start of the ones he'll get later on) and to highlight that Jessica hasn't left the story yet. The rest was just fun.

I thought having Tony inscribe Yinsen's somewhere on an Iron Man suit was a nice touch. Ho did help create the Iron Man; both suit and man.

Dragonskin - Most American Vets from the late 2000's probably have heard of this, but it was disks put together like scale mail to create a better protecting, more lightweight version of the IBA at the time. For some reason, while it was found to stop dozens of rounds with no penetration, it didn't somehow satisfy the tests (just like the M-4 that failed everything but got selected over the Colt X-M8 and the H+K G-316 that passed most every test). My guess is politics. But the _official_ reason was that the disks would separate in one-hundred and twenty-degree weather, rendering them ineffective. Just like bulletproof windows in direct sunlight degrade too.

I actually have no idea what CIA Training consists of, though I image that it has similarities to Army Basic and Marine Boot Camp; getting people into physical shape, instilling discipline, teaching the basics (more advance courses would be for later on), and going over normal policies (ie, the 'shut your fucking trap on what you see' policy). I have no idea how long it is, either, but I made it three months as there would be several 'sessions' a year to make beginning Agents. Class sizes I imagine are in the 30-50 range.

Yes, I referenced Jillian Michaels from _The Biggest Loser_.

The tacos I reference are a real-life thing; my ex-wife's. They practically oozed meat grease and oil, and one day I did in fact ate so many that I threw up from overeating… and then went back for more. She did dip the soft tortillas in vegetable oil and Johnny's (RIP), and then cooked the hamburger in vegetable oil and meat juices, never draining it. It was so saturated in fat that the tortillas were practically transparent at the bottom.


	20. In The Season Of Wither, V

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**Unofficial Designation: "The Farm", Camp Peary, Virginia, October 22, 2012**

_+3 Days after 'Butcher's Week' is completed, CIA Training Graduation_

Author's Note: **WARNING!** Heartbreak will commence.

This chapter will be a tie-in from the previous ARCs and leading to the SUPERARC coming up.

Just as a forewarning, I'm going to DESTROY YOUR FUCKING WORLD.

This is what I like to call the 'bad shit chapter'. By the end of it, you will see me set the stage, and leave most everyone in a bad place. And then I'm going to stun you all with the Teaser Trailer as I finish with the first portion of _Jennifer Walters, Avenger-in-Law_ and continue on with what will be next following this chapter.

Hold on, true believers… _WINTER… IS… COMING_.

* * *

Jessica Miriam Drew and her bunkmate Doctor Doreen Allene Green were all but bouncing their way to the 'undisclosed' building in which they would receive not only their assessment scores for the Central Intelligence Agency's Clandestine Training Facility, but also their next assignment; where they would be trained next based upon their training and scores determining where they would best fit. As a former college student going for a Liberal Arts Degree in Photography, Jessica had found herself having done quite well thanks to a few 'pointers' from a certain redhead that worked for her mother, nothing more than good advice from someone who knew what to expect and things to think upon. Jessica knew that Natasha Romanoff wasn't trying to tell her how to succeed; the Black Widow wasn't trying to steal that sense of accomplishment from her. But letting her know that to look at a situation from multiple angles and not always assume that the solution was obvious or apparent was just a good way to look at things in many endeavors in life, really.

But for now, it was 'graduation'.

"It makes me wonder if the CIA slips people into the 'Doctors Without Borders' program." Jessica told her bunkmate and best friend as they walked down the path to the identified building, passing by a few members of Camp Peary, all wearing nondescript clothes such as sweats or dress shirts and slacks. There were military personnel on the base, mostly for perimeter guard and defense, so there were a couple of men and women in uniform around, some in the blue digicamo of the United States Navy and others in MarPat for the United States Marine Corps. Neither Jessica nor Doreen had any issues running by burly Marines in their PT uniforms, most of them ranging in the _pretty damn fit_ to _pretty damn muscular_ department. The Marines didn't seem to mind, either. "My Uncle did that for a few years. Says its good work." Uncle was Doctor Robert Bruce Banner, who had used the program to go on the run with few questions asked after the Incident that Jessica hadn't known about until years later. "I guess that there'll be plenty of places that will need a good Vet. Livestock's important in many places. Hindu cows might need a check-up."

"Oh, ha ha." Green smirked as she looked to the younger woman beside her. "I thought you were a camera clicker, not a comedian. You might end up taking pictures of politicians in compromising positions with girls. Or boys. Or both." Jessica winced at that. The worst thing was? Doreen probably wasn't wrong. "Still trying to figure out what the CIA would want for a Vet, but you probably nailed it. Official credentials, able to go all over the world without raising too many eyebrows, perhaps Kim Jong-un has a horse that needs a look over. Maybe I can leave its head on his mattress?" Jessica laughed at the _Godfather_ reference.

'My guess for me? A job at National Geographic to supposedly get all those wonderful shots of snow leopards. In _China_." Jessica had always wondered how the magazine could get people to go on expeditions such as the Serengeti Plains or the Himalayas when such areas were highly-contested or under oppressive thumbs. "For a weekend endeavor, I'll help liberate Tibet."

"Say hi to the Dali Llama for me. With a photograph." The Veterinarian said with a wink as the two women reached the building. They both walked in to see eight other people inside, seven men and one other woman, all cadets from their class. Jessica frowned for a moment when she realized that it was too close to the arrival time for people to be missing, and there hadn't been anyone straggling behind them. There was just going to be ten of them out of a class of fifty? _Perhaps we were the top twenty percent_, the nineteen year old rationalized as she looked over at Doreen, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines as she frowned. "Have we missed anything?" Doreen asked.

"No, just hurry up and wait." That was Richard Taylor, a former Army Cavalry Scout who had been picked up after a tour in Afghanistan. "Pretty standard bureaucracy move is to chide you to be on time while they show up five minutes late." That had Drew snort and smile. Truer words never spoken.

"So where's the rest of the class? Did they pass?" Jessica didn't think there were any stragglers. A few might have not made the cut, but she admitted that the CIA wasn't looking for potential failures. Whatever the vetting and selection process was, they did a good job of picking some potentials who were generally in good shape, smart, and had a profession or talent that supported their reason for being on the farm.

"I think we're the honor roll." That came from Stan Harper, a super-computer nerd that made his own computer games back when he was in middle school. "The others got the standard jobs, but we're getting the specialties." There was always that rumor of who would get what; who would work in Headquarters, who would work at a foreign station with a passport and an official cover… and who would be a NOC. NOC's, or non-official covers, were the covert operatives of the CIA; the real James Bond and Jason Bourne-types. The ones that were executed if they were caught, but also the ones that delivered American wrath to those who thought burning flags and funding terrorism was a good thing. Jessica doubted that they were NOCs yet, but likely this would be the pool they would be drawn from. That made sense that there would be a Basic Training Course… and then an Advanced one comprised with a percentage of the top-scoring individuals where the training continued and they became more proficient. The people in the room were certainly the top-tier members of their class. Stan probably guessed it right.

A door from the back of the room they were in opened up to reveal a middle-aged man in a normal government-type suit walking in from somewhere deeper in the building, looking upon them with rather noticeable ice-blue eyes. Jessica was certain she had never seen him before, not with those eyes. He was holding a clipboard in one hand.

"When I call your name, step into the room," he gestured to the room he had just came from, "and receive your next mission." Jessica looked to Doreen with a big grin growing right on her face, her bunkmate's smiling face matching hers. While not exactly what she thought graduation to be like, they had been right; they were moving up! It was probably to tell them their individual locations or training modules for their separate specialties, or perhaps it was a little ruse just to have them feel this way. The CIA was certainly known for its headgames, after all. The man called out _Richard Taylor_ first as the former Cavalry Scout went through the door but didn't come back out. That probably meant he went further inside, down a hall somewhere for a briefing. Perhaps there was a mock mission to give them a taste of the real thing. _Stan Harper_ was called third, and after a minute or two, _Doreen Green_ was called up. Jessica gripped her friends' hand as she smiled at the Doctor before she too stepped inside. Jessica hoped they would be together after this; it helped having a friend along.

"Jessica Drew."

_Here goes nothing_, the young woman let out a breath as she walked towards the closed door, opening it and entering inside before closing it behind her to find herself in a room filled with dark padding on the walls. _Soundproofing?,_ Drew thought with confusion as she saw that she wasn't alone; three men were in the room with her, two to either side and one in front of her.

The two men to her sides rushed and grabbed her arms.

"Hey! What the fuck!" Jessica struggled as the two larger men latched onto her arms, pulling them outward in an improvised spread-eagle fashion as she tried to twist and turn to free herself from the two men in black t-shirts and slacks. If this was a part of the CIA Training Course, she was not thrilled with it. "Let me the fuck go!" She stomped on one of the men's shins to force him to let go, looking at the man who had… strange ice-blue eyes. Despite her stomping at his shin, more than enough to make someone buckle in pain, he never made a sound and didn't let go of her arm. The man in front of her moved, and the young woman looked to see him pull out something from behind him, something she recognized; anyone with a television or internet access would know the sight of it.

"_NO! NO!"_ Jessica struggled harder as the long slender golden staff-like object was hefted upward and pointed at her, moving closer as the young woman struggled and cried out in fear. _"NONONO!"_ The bladed tip of the object went straight for her heart as she gasped at the feel of an immense amount of energy shooting inside of her, spreading through her like a plague. "Oh… O-Oh God-d-d…" Jessica whimpered as she felt the energy spread within her, suffusing her, its tendrils creeping up to her mind as it began to engulf it and swallow it whole.

_MOM! DAD! SARAH! LIBBY! I'M SO SORR…_

When Jessica Miriam Drew opened her eyes, they were no longer green.

But ice-blue.

* * *

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, November 15, 2012**

"So here you go, here's your plane ticket."

Doctor Robert Bruce Banner looked at his cousin with a little trepidation.

"C'mon, Bruce." Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., (CEO, Avengers) looked at Bruce with a smile. "I know you've been texting Betty, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's been nearly six months since the Battle. All the people we're ever going to find have been found, people have been returned to their families, either through reunions or their effects. Insurance companies are playing ball, reconstruction starts next year, and the holidays are coming up. Take some time off, go relax, get out of this Tower and do something for _yourself_."

"Really going to just push me out the door, Jenn?" Bruce asked, though his tone was mirthful. He had been working hard on a great many projects, pushing himself on things like ChiTech, the Leviathan Project, one called VERONICA with Tony, and getting courses on medical aid and emergency surgery.

"Hell, I packed your bags behind your back. I promise the kids after the divorce." That had her cousin snort, but there was a smile there. "Bruce, you've been doing amazing things but there are times when we've got to step back and reward ourselves for our endeavors. Take a month or two off, relax, think about something else. Go see your girlfriend, chat up some University Professors at Culver about something _normal_…"

"What's that again?" Banner asked, amused.

"But get out of this Tower and have something resembling a life. Please." Jenn walked around her office desk and fixed one of the buttons of his shirt. He was working so hard that he hadn't realized he had missed the buttonhole. "I'm proud of you, big guy. Every time I look at you I see that boy who said he was going to conquer all the big problems. And you have, you know? But even big thinkers like you need simple things and simple times to recharge the batteries. Go to a lake, go fishing, go hiking or bowling or, dear God… _golfing_." Dad loved golfing and had taken both Bruce and herself when they were kids. Bruce wasn't nearly so receptive. "But get out and about. All that stuff will still be there when you get back. But _take a vacation_."

"Okay." The Doctor replied, but that smile was still there. "I guess I get cooped up and working, it starts becoming harder to walk out when I want to or need to. I don't think I need to be a shut-in. West Virginia's nice." He looked at the tickets. "I guess I'm going to have to make Thanksgiving plans."

"I'm sure you'll impress somebody with that big brain of yours." The thirty-two year old woman teased her thirty-seven year old cousin. "Go. You're flight leaves in a few hours, and Betty knows when to pick you up. It was nice hearing from her again."

"Wait, you really did pack behind my back?" Jenn just gave him a _shooing_ motion before she gave him a hug. "Thank you, Jenn. Maybe a break will do me good. It'll be nice to have a couple of holidays not having to look over my shoulder."

"There you go." Jenn smiled as she watched Bruce take the tickets and leave her office, glowing a little. That was exactly what she had been aiming for. Doctor Elizabeth 'Betty' Ross had been the woman that had caught her cousin's heart all those years ago and vice versa when they had worked on the Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project. Bruce had even gone to her when he had been hunted down in Brazil, looking for a cure and a place to lay low in the East Coast, having found a man in Greyburn College that could possible help him. Betty had left the man she had living with her for a few years, Leonard Samson, who had called her father, General Thaddeus Ross, when he saw Bruce, a known fugitive. At the least the psychologist had made an honest mistake, even if it had cost lives. Betty was a good woman who had fallen in love hard with her cousin. They vacation was for the both of them, honestly.

"Just saw Banner walking by," Tony Stark came into her office like a breeze, dressed up in a custom-fitted David Edward double-breasted wool suit and a pair of Wayfarer sunglasses, looking as dapper as ever, "with a big grin on his face. Win the lottery?"

"No worries, you're still the wealthiest man here, Tony." Jenn, due to her position, was now estimated as to being worth several million dollars herself due to assets and _The Avengers Foundation_. Those speculations weren't even aware of the chest full of flawless gems that Odin had given her yet. "Holidays are coming up and I want people to go out and enjoy them. We've got cell phones, we got monitoring equipment, but I want people to send some time with their families and loved ones. Take Thanksgiving through Christmas off and come back for the New Year. Pretty sure the planet will still be here."

"That's not bad. Put in a lot of miles flying back and forth between here and Palo Alto." Tony went to see Virgina 'Pepper' Potts about twice a month for about six days out of the month. It wasn't a lot of time. "Think I'll take you up on your offer, Counselor." And just like that, in typical Tony fashion, he breezed on out just as easily as he had come in. Walters could only shake her head and smile at the mans' pizazz. Well, it _was_ Tony Stark.

It was near evening when Captain Steven Rogers finally entered her office, the sun mostly set and the sky turning a somber sanguine color as building lights began illuminating New York City. Jenn had gotten most of everyone to go and take Thanksgiving off at the least, and a few were going to take the month off. But for a couple, there was nowhere for them to go. Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff didn't have family or loved ones to come home to, or even a house of their own. The thought saddened Jenn at the sight of the time-displaced man who had woken up to a world very strange from the one he once knew.

"Is there anything I can do to convince you to go out for the holiday. At the least go visit someplace new?" Walters asked the Captain, standing in her office in a plain t-shirt stretched taunt across his physique along with a pair of jeans. "Hell, borrow a car and drive to nowhere, go sightsee."

"Are you going anywhere for the holidays?" _Nice deflection, Rogers_, Jenn thought to herself.

"I'm going to spend Thanksgiving with my girls and my Dad. It's going to be hard without Jessica, though." Walters admitted. She hadn't heard from her oldest daughter, which was understandable considering that she was in the CIA training to be an agent. She doubted that the Central Intelligence Agency would be so heartless not to allow a phone call for Thanksgiving or some time off for Christmas. "Like I told Bruce earlier, I don't want you and Nat just sitting up here growing cobwebs over the holiday. Enjoy it, take some time off and do something for yourselves. Together would be nice, but _something_." She knew what Steve's hangup was; he hadn't really recovered from the War. He had crashed into the Arctic Ocean and woke up almost seventy years later. A few weeks after that, he was fighting on the streets of New York and helping rescue and recovery operation and put together with a team that the public declared _Earth's Mightiest Heroes_. He hadn't had a chance to come to grips with all he had done, now being a part of a paramilitary organization whose mission was safeguarding planet Earth from God knew what. Try as she might, Jenn couldn't bring herself to tell Steve Rogers that he might need to see a therapist. His generation didn't even have therapists, and it probably wasn't seen as very manly to admit that someone had problems. His generation and the one before it had a whole host of problems that were identified now, but that took time. Time Steve hadn't had yet.

"Seen any baseball games this year? Football's going strong." Those were safe manly topics.

"I saw a few on television." Rogers admitted, but that hadn't been what Jenn was actually asking. "I think you're about to tell me what everyone else has told me."

"I just…" This was a man whom she grown up knowing to be a legend. Jenn wanted desperately to see to him, to make sure that he was helped in the ways he needed. "I care, Steve. And I want you to be comfortable and happy. It's probably just as hard on me _not_ to jump in and do something as it is for you to figure out your place in all of this. Does that make sense?"

"It does. And I do appreciate." The soldier replied, and she could tell that he was telling the truth. He did appreciate that those he called teammates were there for him.

"Tell you what. How about Christmas plans." Jennifer offered with a smile. "Sarah and Libby certainly can make a holiday feel special, and my Dad might actually shit out a gold brick at the sight of you. He'll tell you cop stories until _both_ of your ears fall off. Not one moment of boredom. I think what you need is that victory parade, that signal that you can come back home. Nothing does that better than family, Steve. If you can't with your own, I'd love it if you could do it with mine. Plus it would be really corny to see you in a Santa hat." That had the ninety-two year old man snort, but he smiled at the thought.

"I think about it." That was a start, at least. "But you gave me an idea about Thanksgiving. I think I'll take my bike and go up north. Maybe seeing something I've never seen before will be a nice fresh start. Plymouth was where Thanksgiving started, so perhaps Boston might be fun to try. Do the Freedom Trail. Something old-fashioned."

"That's the spirit, Cap." Jenn offered him a smile. "If you get lonely, give someone a call. And tell Nat to get out as well. That woman's as stubborn as a brick wall. Maybe she'll listen to her elders." That just had Steve snort again, shaking his head and smiling as he gave her a nod and left her office. Jenn took a deep breath, the last thing she needed to be done for the day accomplished as she went to her desk and swiped her computers off, auto-saving her work as she wen to the large bay windows of her office, looking out into the deepening night of New York City, the American City of Light glowing with the illumination of buildings, cars, and electronic billboards as she looked upon the city of millions, looking upon it for a long moment. Her duty, her responsibility, the burden she carried defined right before her very eyes.

"Good night, New York." Jennifer Walters whispered as she took in the view one last time before leaving. "See you in the morning." With a smile, the lawyer left her office, turning off the office light before she walked out, closing the door behind her.

The office stayed dark for a moment before the flatscreen television mounted upon the office wall flickered on to life upon its own. An image of Jennifer Walters sitting at her office desk clear to see.

"_Hello, my name is Jennifer Walters, and I am the Chief Executive Officer of _Avengers, Incorporated_ and _The Avengers Foundation_."_ The image of Jennifer smiled as it looked forward. _"I know it's been a long hard road for us all following the aftermath of the Chitauri Invasion and the Battle of New York. That day brought us tears, but also resolve. We at the Avengers strive to look ahead, to prepare for the day we are needed once more, to uphold our mission for the sake of our planet and the lives within it._

"_For those of you out there watching this,"_ the television broadcasted,_ "I wish I could promise better times. I would be foolish to say that things will constantly get better. Instead, we will strive to seek out those better days, to prepare for those dark days, to be there when you need us, even if you don't think you do."_ Jennifer held her folded hands upon her desk. _"Dark days will come, I'm afraid, but there is one promise that I will make, true believers; we will be there when they do. _

"_For when winter is coming,"_ the televised Jennifer spoke,_ "we look forward to the spring. When the night comes, we pray for dawn. And when those who hide their dark deeds in shadows and beyond scrutiny, those who stand for truth and justice will seek them out and to right the wrongs done. I know that things can seem bleak, that efforts move against us, but we stand ready to assemble like the Minutemen of old; ready to defend, ready to protect._

"_I must warn you, true believers, that the coming days will not bode well at all."_ Jennifer warned. _"Our future looks perilous indeed with the coming month. With half of our roster on vacation, a threat looming in the shadows, and uncertainty of whom to trust, these can be trying times. I've built the Avengers to weather such things, but as we all know, the future can be a dangerous thing to predict. Loyalties will be tested, hardships to endure, and heartbreak for many who will continue on. But we will do our best to persevere against such things; for threats from beyond to threats of old, we will see to them one and all. _

"_It's been a long hard road for us all," _the television continued, _"but for those of you that have kept the faith, for those who have believed in us, we have persevered these past few months together. Your support and your comments haven't gone unnoticed, true believers. We here appreciate all that you've done to continue to make us a success, to create something that you can believe in. We do this for you, dear reader. After all…"_

On the screen, Jennifer lifted up her left hand, pressing her thumb and middle finger together, a smirk on her face as her eyebrows tilted upwards.

"…_there are worse games to play."_

The on-screen Jennifer snaps her fingers, and the television shuts off and goes dark.

* * *

_FINE: BOOK I - Jennifer Walters, Avenger-in-Law_

_OLD STORY SUMMERY_

Nat's wanted for assault, and Clint for murder. Tony's got a paternity suit, and Steve 70 years of backpay. Harlem wants to sue the Hulk for damages, and Norway wants to sue Thor for being a false God. NYC wants answers for all the damages done by the Chitauri, and insurances companies are out for blood. The Avengers need a good attorney. Jennifer Walters, at your service.

* * *

**BOOK II - Jennifer Walters, Avenger-in-Law: Winter Is Coming**

NEW STORY SUMMERY

Jenn Walters has turned a group of superheroes into a team. Yet that doesn't stop foes from coming as traitors, assassins, science experiments, an enemy from the past, and an object of infinite power comes to haunt the Avengers and their allies. Lines blur between friend and foe as HYDRA rises in a bid for global supremacy. [CA:WS AU]

* * *

_**SUPERARC I: WINTER IS COMING**_

* * *

_ARC V: Of Traitors And Assassins_

**200 Park Avenue and East 45th Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, December 8, 2012**

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., (CEO, Avengers) sat at her office desk working on a legal document when her desk phone rang, the unlisted one. She looked over to see that there was no identifying number. That was an odd thing considering only about twenty people knew that number and JARVIS hadn't informed her of who might be calling. Curious, she picked up the phone.

"This is Jennifer Walters." The lawyer spoke to the receiver, still looking over the legal document pertaining to possible zoning issues for reconstruction for the City of New York.

"_Thank God I got through! Please don't hang up!"_ A man's voice came through the receiver, frantic and harried. _"I hacked a government communication satellite to piggyback this SatPhone call, and I've been on the run for the past three days from a man with a metal arm trying to kill me. I swear to God he damn near ran down my _car_ on a freeway when I was doing _sixty_!" _Jennifer paused what she was doing and focused her attention on the man's voice, sounding very stressed and utterly hoping that she would believe him.

"Okay, start at the top and explain to me while I should believe your story over a phone you shouldn't have the number for." Jenn replied evenly. Perhaps this was a crank call, perhaps not.

"_Okay, I got your number from the NSA. I'm an internet infrastructure analyst at Kunia Tunnel in Hawaii working for Booz Allen Hamilton_," Jenn was starting to get a picture here with those names, _"and I'm basically the reason America's cybersecurity even fucking works at all. So, yes, I'm an NSA hacker and I got your number from the depths of America's little black book behind an ungodly amount of firewalls and high-encrypted security measures because they practically handed me the keys to the kingdom when they realized I'm smarter than just about most anyone even _you_ can think of. I'm calling you because I think you might be the only person on the planet I could trust with the proverbial nuclear bomb that's attached to my right wrist right now."_

"Keep talking." This probably wasn't a nutcase. Jenn was barely aware of Booz Allen Hamilton, but she knew what Kunia Tunnel was, even if that wasn't its official name. The Regional Signals Intelligence Operations Center Kunia was the forefront of national cybersecurity against Asian state hackers and cyberattacks. That wasn't a name known by the general public or even most US Government employees. She only knew of it because of SHIELD.

"_I'm not going to lie,"_ the man kept talking, his tone going from stressed to anxious,_ "I am in some massive deep shit, and I was the one who had the shovel in the first place. I've been a sub-contractor for the NSA for some time now, and I've gotten really disgusted by how the National Security Agency is basically spying on everyone, especially the American public. I've raised concerns, sent memos, cried, but no one gave a shit, so… so I did something right, something stupid._

"_I went whistleblower and downloaded something like twelve terabytes of information on illegal surveillance programs, documents, and plans that the NSA has from illegal wiretaps and internet ghost protocols from everywhere from Australia, North America, and Europe."_

Jenn… was a little speechless at that.

"_That's not the bad shit, sadly."_ The man continued, almost sounding like he was decompressing at the same time he was confessing, a man at the end of the line. _"I wasn't going to blow up the stuff that's good for American security; just the public stuff that's unconstitutional. I started reviewing it, looking for things that were illegal when… oh God… I found the Devil in the details. They're still here after all this time…" _

"Who?" Walters asked, wondering about the sanity of the man in question, or if he was just hoping that she would bail his ass out of a jail cell.

"_It's HYDRA."_ The man replied with a sob. _"I went through the data again and again and again… and it's fucking _HYDRA_."_

That word had Jenn's mouth go dry. _No, that couldn't be possible_.

"_Look, I have all the evidence you could ever want, but someone sent a no-bullshit Goddamn cyborg assassin after me."_ The man told her, his words rushed. _"I'm currently on a cargo ship called the _Lemurian Star_ because a plane can't land on a ship and we're too far out for a helicopter. I will willingly_ hand myself_ over and give you the evidence you need to prove my claims for asylum. Right now, I think you're about the only person I'd trust with it. Just… bring friends. I've already faced a guy who damn near outran a moving vehicle on a highway." _

"I'm going to take you up on your offer, but you had best deliver." Jenn told the man. "I'll spin something up and we'll extract you as soon as we can. Stay low until the time being." Jenn was already keying in a code through the Stark Tower intercom system for the few members she happened to have on hand for the moment. "And at the least tell me your name."

"_Yeah, sorry, just… running on fear and adrenaline. Sorry about that."_ The man replied, sounding every bit truthful about that. _"But my name's Snowden._

"_Edward Snowden."_

* * *

Author's Notes: Who just shit a brick right now? I've been waiting for this moment since mid-June when I thought of it!

Poor Jessica just got a taste of the Scepter. Remember me mentioning her convoluted history a while back? Jessica Drew was originally an Agent of HYDRA. Thanks to _Avengers: Endgame_, we know officially how the Scepter got to HYDRA's hands. But I decided to play a twisted game.

Yes, this means that Doreen Green got a taste of the Scepter, too.

A part of the middle portion of this chapter is to explain why Tony Stark or Bruce Banner didn't show up for Captain America: Winter Soldier. In fact, Iron Man 3, Captain America: Winter Soldier, and Thor: The Dark World will all occur at about the same time so that there is no outside interference. Realistically, CA:WS happens in 2014, but I push it to the left for reasons I'll give later on in the SUPERARC.

The television portion was an answer to a question a few fans have asked pertaining to a power that Jennifer Walters/She-Hulk has called _cosmic awareness_, more generally known as _breaking the fourth wall_. In this, her televised person addresses 'true believers' (that's you!) as a little foreshadowing.

And yes, Jenn snapped the TV off after referencing _Mockingjay_.

While most know the name Edward Snowden, the time line is almost correct; he went whistleblower in May 2013, but had been purloining NSA documents and information for at least a year. This route would actually be factually correct. Using what he found as a means for HYDRA to succeed and spy on everyone? That was just fun.

You… did see the name of the _ARC: Of Traitors And Assassins_, right?


	21. Of Traitors And Assassins, I

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**Boeing C-17 Globemaster III "**_**Gungnir**_**", American Airspace, North American Continent, December 9, 2012**

Author's Notes: Welcome to SUPERARC: WINTER IS COMING!

2 months and twelve thousand views since this story has began, I have set the stage for the events that will be _Captain America: Winter Soldier_. Just leave your assumptions at the door after wiping your feet off. With the story having launched so quickly with so many fans, fav's, follows, and reviews, I have spent the past two weeks writing out the first ARC and delve about halfway into this fifteen chapter segment that will be my version of the second Captain America movie. Don't expect the expected.

And get ready for a wild ride.

SUPERARC SUMMERY: Jenn Walters has turned a group of superheroes into a team. Yet that doesn't stop foes from coming as traitors, assassins, science experiments, an enemy from the past, and an object of infinite power comes to haunt the Avengers and their allies. Lines blur between friend and foe as HYDRA rises in a bid for global supremacy. And it starts with a man named Edward Snowden. [CA:WS AU]

* * *

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., (CEO, Avengers) stood in front of what she happened to have on-hand for a team aboard the Boeing C-17 Globemaster III '_Gungnir_' flying somewhere over the North American Continent in between New York and Hawaii. She stood in front of her team of six, four of them ground team members while two were supporting members not including herself. The roster was thin from the short notice, there was no real plan in place, and they would be going in practically blind. Captain Steven Grant Rogers, Natasha Alianovna Romanoff, Clinton Francis Barton, and Commander Nathanial Troy Dugan were already suited up and ready for infiltration while 1st Lieutenant Samuel Thomas Wilson and Major Maria Jacoba Hill would be supporting the effort, Sam piloting _Gungnir_ while Maria would handle communications and tactical options. She herself would oversee the mission, but they were going in light and unprepared. They all knew it.

"Okay, folks. Listen up." Jennifer stood in front of the pane of glass that had a holographic representation of the _Lemurian Star_ on it. "The vessel in question is a NeoPanamax Dry Bulk Carrier known as the _Lemurian Star_. It's over twelve hundred feet long, over a hundred-and-fifty feet wide, and nearly two hundred feet tall. On this ship is one individual that is our objective." A separate screen appeared on the glass showing a twenty-eight year old Caucasian man with brown hair and prescription eyeglasses. "Meet Edward Joseph Snowden, 28, born in Elizabeth City, North Carolina." The picture was an official one dated two years prior. "Former United States Army Reserve Special Forces Candidate who broke both his legs in training and didn't pass, former CIA foreign attache to Europe who was trained in cybersecurity and electronic exploitation, former sub-contractor for Dell to manage cybersecurity for multiple American Government agencies, currently with Booz Allen Hamilton doing work for the National Security Agency at Kunia Tunnel until he went off grid less than a hundred hours ago." There was collaborating transcripts supporting the biography. "Man tests at a one-forty plus IQ, and was the CIA's and NSA's go-to guy in anything related to cybersecurity and electronic counterintelligence. In other words, he's a genius computer hacker that guarded the firewall gates and likely had unprecedented levels of access to pentest cyberdefenses and exploits to safeguard American interests."

"So what made him rabbit onto a cargo ship?" Nate Dugan asked.

"Mister Snowden here," Jenn gestured to the employee photograph taken by Dell, "has decided to secure something like twenty-five _terabytes_ of classified information from the National Security Agency's databanks. As a high-level systems administrator and their white hat hacker guru, he had near unlimited access to test for penetrations, exploits, day one bugs… anything a nation or e-terrorists would drool at the prospect of cracking open. That meant he could access damn near anything he pleased." _Uh oh,_ Clint muttered under his breath. "Edward had a crisis of conscious seeing what he believed to be unconstitutional means of spying on the American public. He didn't elaborate, but he mentioned that the spying not only included the American people, but our allies as well. What Mister Snowden has attached to his wrist supposedly is a public relations bomb that could make things get very ugly very quick, both at home and abroad. I don't know if the claims of illegal wiretapping and electronic surveillance are true, but I don't think most people in this room would really be surprised.

"First order of business is the securing of Mister Snowden and the data." Walters told the Avengers in front of her. "The last thing we need is this in the hands of _anyone else_ on the planet." There wasn't any argument or contest there, everyone nodding in agreement. "That sadly leads to the _second_ reason Mister Snowden here is on the lam." Jenn clicked a button to change the screen on the pane of glass to show an icon, what looked to be an upside-down octopus; a circular body with eight arms lifted up and spreading out like an umbrella, encompassed by a circle, the whole motif colored violet. There were murmurs of recognition from the symbol, especially from the former SHIELD Agents and the living legend that had thought he had buried the organization sixty-seven years prior.

It was the symbol for HYDRA.

"When our target was absconding the NSA for classified data," Jennifer continued, "he reviewed what he had found and believes that the programs that he felt were illegal might have been instituted by what he believes to be HYDRA." Most everyone shifted where they sat or stood in the loft. "I don't know how he came to that conclusion, but considering that most people are under the impression that HYDRA was destroyed around 1949, pulling out the name of a defunct Nazi scientific research and weapons development program seems unusual. Something in his cache of classified materials led him to this conclusion, and I don't think anyone here will have any issues with us granting a possible traitor temporary asylum to review what he has to see if there is merit to his claim." No one raised their voices to object, Jenn nodding with the silent agreement. "Now Mister Snowden said that someone was sent after him, that he had been on the run from a potential assassin. Considering he stole a huge cache of sensitive and classified materials, that isn't too far of a stretch to believe. What was a stretch was the quality of the man they sent to collect him.

"Said the man had a metal arm and damn near outran his car on a highway." Jennifer relayed.

Natasha Romanoff's head perked up with that, the lawyer noted.

"We called him the Winter Soldier." The redhead said softly, getting everyone to look at her. "I… have a story to tell. It isn't pleasant." Nat looked at Jenn, and the Esquire could see… something in those green eyes of hers; pain, memory, something that she didn't want brought up but might not have a choice. "But I've seen him no less than four times. He does have a left arm that is a mechanical prosthetic, not an arm wrapped in metal. And he is fast. _Very_ fast." Nat's gaze slowly went to Steve Rogers. "Your kind of fast."

"Super soldier?" Captain America asked, frowning. Others had tried before, tried and failed.

"If not that, then something similar." The Black Widow replied, looking down at her own hands. "Back… before," that was as much as she was going to allow about her past, "he was nothing more than a rumor in the covert ops world, neither us nor… nor the CIA knew whom he belonged to." No one was really surprised by the admission that Nat was likely former Federal Security Services, the Russian Federation's State Security Agency and the successor to the _Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti_, translating to the Committee of State Security and known worldwide as the KGB. "I do know one thing for certain. He didn't play on anyone's side, not that we knew of. He would hit targets all over the world, arriving like a laser-guided bomb, and disappearing like a ghost, striking out at targets from just about any nation you can think of, regardless of stance, politics, nationality… whoever directed him wasn't Russia or America. I'm all but certain it wasn't a European power, either. But the years he's been active leaves a lot of others out either; China, India, North Korea, most everyone in Africa. It wasn't just him that was a ghost; it was also whomever he was working for. Orders were to kill him on sight, but everyone knew that was folly.

"I'm the only person I know that's ever survived him face-to-face more than once." Romanoff said, the neutrality of her tone suggesting that something much more internal was going on. Jenn imagined that Nat had known people to die at the hands of this 'Winter Soldier'.

"So how did a NSA hacker get away?" Sam asked. That was a damn good question. Yes, Edward's bio said that he had made it to the Special Forces' Q Course, which meant he was at least physically fit and probably more so than the common American. Experience in the CIA meant he likely thought on his feet and knew a few tricks. But if someone who had been trained for clandestine or covert ops had failed against this man, then chances were Edward Snowden had either gotten lucky or had prepared for an eventuality that someone would come after him and delivered bait while running in the other direction, giving him a head start.

"We'll find out when we pick him up." Jenn promised, looking to the team. "Look, we're at half strength, going in half-blind, and we don't have any kind of back-up plan. Most of you have had scenarios like this before, so plan and prep accordingly. Maria? Since you;re a qualified pilot, I'm having you fly the _Gungnir_ when we arrive, and I will provide communication and tactical support." Walters wasn't thrilled that their roster was so thin. She could provide coordination, and most of the instrumentation was of exceptional quality and even automated, but right now she was the most useless person on the plane. "Sam will provide aerial support and surveillance while Captain Rogers, Natasha, Clint, and Nate retrieve Snowden and his intelligence. We have no idea how many people are on the _Lemurian Star_, but those ships are designed to be run on a minimal crew of about twenty to twenty-five. I brought up the schematics of a generic NeoPanamax vessel in case someone is snooping and wondering why they're getting electronic hits on a particular one." They were having to play this one close to the chest, though Jenn had to admit that using a cargo ship as an escape plan wasn't the worst idea in the world when stuck on an island. Airports were probably observed, so Snowden had stowed away upon a common bulk carrier that wouldn't be able to take an airplane and would be too far for a helicopter to reach unless someone had a refueling option. Those weren't easy assets to gain outside of the United States or Russian military.

"And one more thing," Jenn said before dismissing everyone, "Edward Snowden does not leave that ship unless it is in our custody. If he or his cache end up in the hands of anyone else other than ourselves… they are taken out.

"Any questions?"

* * *

**Boeing C-17 Globemaster III "**_**Gungnir**_**", International Airspace, Pacific Ocean, December 9, 2012**

Clinton Francis Barton stood a the ramp of the Boeing C-17 Globemaster III known as _"Gungnir"_ alongside Captain Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Sam Wilson, every one of them having prepped for the mission and gone over a simple but effective plan to search a vessel that was almost a square mile in volume. He had done Visit, Board, Search and Seizure (VBSS) Operations before, and knew how confined most vessels could be. Most of the crew would likely be in the Bridge Tower where the berths, facilities, galley, and Bridge itself was located, and the rest likely in the Engine Room. On a metal ship with narrow halls, metal walls, watertight doors with waterlock wheels on one side, shipboarding tactics were rather adventurous. With the threat of piracy on the rise thanks to Somalia and other locations, the need for good entry and knowledge on what to do in such tight quarters was a necessity, especially when firing a gun down a hallway could rebound rounds and it one's own personnel or damage vital components.

In other words, it was a motherfucker.

"_ETA to destination, sixty seconds."_ Came the voice of Major Maria Hill piloting the _Gungnir_, having found the vessel in question on the radar as well as its navigational homing beacon that all civilian vessels were required to have half an hour before. He had already loaded up his quiver with eighty collapsible arrows created by Kamala Khan as well as an extra arrowhead container in case he retrieved any of his munitions and needed more attachments. He also had an assortment of tools and weapons that he always carried on him; a Leatherman, a fixed-blade knife, a lockpicking set, a few flashbang grenades, a Springfield Model XD .45 caliber pistol with four magazines, a couple of golfball-sized shaped charges, and (if things got _real_ nasty) a specialty-made arrowhead that he called 'the Davy Crockett'. He was wearing a custom-fitted bulletproof vest made of magnesium-silicon carbide that would protect him even from military-grade rounds, lightweight and allowing freedom of movement. Taking a brace of throwing knives and strapping them to his left calf while sliding some smoke canisters on his right, he double-checked everything twice before picking up his custom-made compound bow, taking a few practice draws to get his mind on the mission, the three-fingered draw glove on his hand protecting his fingers from the cable string. The tension was there until ninety-percent pulled back when the oval pulleys rotated enough that the string became less difficult to hold, a seventy-five percent drop in tension. A few releases had him feeling the snap of the string, the inner-bracer that protected the underside his left forearm being struck as usual.

He looked over to Captain Steve Rogers, wearing his customary red, white, and blue uniform and carrying his signature shield, and nodded to him to indicate that he was ready.

Clint could feel the C-17 slowing down as it began to hover as the ramp dropped down for deployment, Commander Nathaniel Dugan kicking over a pair of bags that contained fast ropes; they would be air assaulting out of an airplane hovering over the ship. The ropes were already connected via carabineers to the necessary latches as the one-hundred and fifty foot ropes dropped downward as the archer could see the ship in the night, the bridge of the vessel half-visible from the opened deployment ramp. God knew what the Bridge crew was thinking when a plane dropped in from the sky and was hovering VTOL-style at the bow of the ship. Clint grabbed a pair of tactical air assault gloves and quickly pulled them on for their extra padding along the palms for what he was about to do.

"_Avengers?"_ Called out Jennifer Walters over the EarComms that everyone wore. _"Good hunting. Go, go, go!"_

Clint moved forward to grab the rope, the pair of tactical air assault gloves wrapping around the inch-diameter robe as the former SHIELD Agent kicked off the plane and began to fast-rope down, using his gloved hands and the inner-curve of his feet to maintain his speed as he dropped over a hundred feet from the plane to the top of a container on the front of the _Lemurian Star_, Captain America on the rope next to him as they both landed on the metal roof of a Connex with a thud, releasing and moving forward to make way for Natasha Romanoff and Nate Dugan. Clint had already pulled off the tactical gloves and pulled out his bow, pulling out a normal broadhead arrow (the shaft extending with a snap of his wrist) and nocking it at its mark, leaving it forward in its rest position as he held his position a few meters forward of their landing spot, pulling security where Steve held his shield at the ready for offense or defense before Nat and Nate landed on the vessel. Two pairs of booted feet hit the metal container behind them, and a quick look showed that both the Black Widow and Mongoose were moving forward as well, both armed with Heckler and Koch UMP45 Submachine Guns in their hands along with various other weapons and tools.

"_Big Momma, Eagle has landed."_ Captain America said over his EarComm, the words softly spoken yet relayed loud enough to hear without issue. Clint's EarComm was to work in conjunction with his his surgical hearing implants, in which he actually had better hearing than a normal man since his _scillia_ in his ear canal weren't involved at all and wouldn't take damage like a normal persons' would from loud or sudden noises. In fact, he couldn't burst an ear drum or his audio hammer either because the implant regulated noise input. He didn't miss the days of living in silence, his hearing robbed from him by a childhood disease. _"Fan out, drop to top deck. Hawk and Widow, take port and move towards Tower."_ The Captain ordered as Clint acknowledged and moved towards the left-hand side of the boat, which was really on his right since he was facing stern. The containers that they were on were all interlinked by container knuckles fitted into the locking holes at the corners of the Connexes, meaning that traversing over several was of no issue and in no need of leaping over gaps as Barton stalked towards where the containers ended.

Barton un-nocked his arrow and inserted it into his quiver, dialing his joystick on his bow to select his arrowhead as he picked the grappling hook arrowhead, his quivers' mechanism having undone the normal broadhead and rotated to tighten on the one he selected automatically. Hawkeye nocked, drew, and fired the arrow at the metal container at his feet, a thin metal cable extending from the head as the line connected to his bow. Nat took a knee at the top of the container and gave him a nod as she pulled security while Clint repelled downward, extending the cable as he went down thirty feet backwards, hopping down the side of the containers until his feet hit the deck. Clint clicked his tongue of the roof of his mouth to let Nat know it was her turn as he drew another arrow, another steel broadhead already attached as he flicked his wrist automatically to extend it and nock it. Nat came down the same line, her UMP slung against her chest as she shimmied down the cable Navy-style, using the inside of her feet and her forearms to do so.

"Showoff." Hawkeye told his companion when she reached the deck, the redhead blowing him a kiss as she loosened the sling of her H+K and held it in both hands. "Ladies first?"

"Be my guest." Natasha retorted sweetly, the old familiarity of them working together a comfort on a mission such as this. How many missions had they done together with more question marks than intel? Something like this was their bread-and-butter. Still, Jenn took such things seriously, as she should, and mother hen'ed them as a leader ought to. A few more missions with her as control would have her a little more familiar, but for the most part Clint had to admit that for a lawyer she was actually pretty good at what she was learning the ropes about. She didn't kill them with constant updates or cried for one every five minutes. She sent then on mission… and then trusted them to do their damn jobs while she did hers. It was nice not having a micromanager breathing down his neck. What she had wanted was to make the Avengers a team of professionals, pushing herself right alongside them to be the kind of leader she needed to be while they worked on being the kind of team the world deserved. While there were a few details to iron and a couple of kinks to work out, they had all certainly done just that.

Clint stalked down the port-side of the deck of the _Lemurian Star_, followed closely by Natasha Romanoff as she checked corners after he did and their rear as he led them towards the large hundred-and-ten foot Bridge Tower that loomed over the large cargo vessel, representing most every portion of the ships' needs save the engine room. His eyes touched everything; the porthole windows where there might be signs of life, access doors and hatches where someone could move in and out, the rotating radar at the top of the conning tower that all ships had to prevent collisions, and the exterior stairs that would give access to the various levels rising above decks. Barton moved at a tactical pace, his body slightly hunched over to present a smaller target while leaning forward to increase his speed without having to walk faster, as if constantly falling forward. He approached the Bridge Tower in good time, the fingers of his right hand curled around the bowstring, the shaft of his arrow in between his first and second finger as the synthetic fiber fletchings tickled his knuckles as his blue eyes expertly scanned everything. When he reached the end of the container yard of the vessel, he paused just before the corner of the last container stack, taking a knee and keeping to the shadows as best he could.

"Eagle, Hawk," Clint said softly, his EarComm picking up his voice, "we're at the end of the yard."

"_Same."_ Captain America replied. _"Split up to cover each level. Schematic suggests there are six decks to the Bridge Tower, but I doubt our target is physically on the Bridge itself. Hawk, take ground floor, Widow the second, Mongoose the third, and the fourth for me. Remember that there are sailors on this vessel, and they haven't done anything. Avoid detection and confrontation as best you can."_

"Maybe we can pull out our fancy Avenger Membership Club cards." Clint jested, getting Natasha to snort behind him. Tactical insertions were their bread-and-butter; announcing themselves was not. He moved forward from his position with Romanoff right at his heels as he saw Steve Rogers and Nate Dugan move forward on the starboard side of the vessel. Clint moved towards the first opened access hatch as Natasha moved to a steep staircase that would take her to the second level, her H+K UMP in her hands as she bolted up the stairs much faster than he ever could. He wondered if anyone in the Avengers actually suspected _what_ she was. Nat hadn't said a word, and neither would he. Barton slipped inside the access hatch to find himself in a narrow metal corridor with florescent lighting on the ceiling along with nautical-related paraphernalia gracing the walls; the ships' name in brass lettering, a couple of pictures of helm wheels and anchors, and the off-white coloring that one normally saw in hospitals and Doctor's offices.

Not a soul to be seen. Clint didn't hear any footsteps either. Yes, they were on a cargo carrier vessel and those were generally pretty loud, not to mention they were traveling over the ocean, so the sound of water slashing was fairly constant as well. But Barton was a professional; he had learned long ago to detect unnatural, human-made noises through the din of other audio interferences. Yes, ships such as the _Lemurian Star_ were generally minimally manned, but there would be people manning their positions regardless of what time of day or night it was. There would be the clatter of boots on the deck, the sound of voices, the sounds of people eating in the galley if he were near it. All he heard was the spray of the ocean and the quiet rumbling of the engines.

"Has anyone else seen a crew member yet?" Clint asked as he moved forward, sliding his arrow back into its quiver after collapsing it and slipping his bow across his body as he drew his Springfield Arms' Model XD .45 caliber pistol. Bows worked better in more open areas than they did confining hallways. Besides, the sight of a man armed with a bow would have him pretty easily recognized if someone spotted him before he could secret himself somewhere. Discretion was the better part of valor, after all, and Hawkeye knew how to be discrete.

"_Negative so far."_ Natasha replied, her tone saying it all; she had noticed it as well. _"I found the galley empty. No signs of dinner, trash, dishes, or mess personnel. Heads on a swivel, boys."_

"_Found some of the crew berths. Not a soul."_ Nate Dugan answered as well, his tone just as mystified. _"Berths are never empty, not completely."_

"_Any sign or suggestion of target?"_ Rogers asked, though his voice didn't expect a positive answer.

Clint was moving forward down the corridor when something exited out from one of the room ahead of him, something small sauntering into the middle of the hall to look at him. Barton looked at the newcomer, and it took a moment to click in his mind what he was looking at. It wasn't a man, or even a human being. It looked like a tailless skunk with more of a dark brown coat instead of black and a more cream-like layer covering the top instead of the snow-white coloring stripe. What gave him the identification were the claws that extended from the toes of the short furry creature about the size of a small medium-sized dog. It was a short, squat, flat-looking creature with a small muzzle and lots of sharp teeth, which were snarling at him right now. The sight of the creature had him pause; the recognition had him aiming his pistol at it.

"Um… guys? We may have walked into a trap." Clint said softly as he heard a growl behind him, and turned to see another creature in the hall from where he came, located in a room he had already cleared. He hadn't expected woodland creatures, but the new one was different from the first; it seriously looked like a miniaturized bear if bears were the size of medium-sized dogs like a German Shepard. The teeth were bared from its more bear-like snout, its golden brown fur bristling in warning.

"_What do you have?"_ Captain America asked over the EarComm.

"Seriously? A honey badger and a wolverine staring me the fuck down in a classic pincer attack."

* * *

1st Lieutenant Samuel Thomas Wilson, known as the Falcon, couldn't believe his ears at what Clint Barton had just described.

_How the fuck does a honey badger and a wolverine, the two most vicious animals on the planet, get onto a boat?_, was the big question on his mind when the control module on his left wrist pinged with an alert. Archimedes had spotted a thermal signature as Sam soared over the _Lemurian Star_, keeping an eye on the decks and the surrounding area while he had Archimedes, the bird-of-prey drone that Kamala Khan had created for him, flying in a smaller concentric circle near the Tower for surveillance and reconnaissance, utilizing its advanced camera and sensors for infrared and thermal imagining. Yes, likely it wouldn't spot anyone even passing by a porthole covered by glass, but anyone moving on the deck or along the open-air gangways would easily be seen.

Wilson looked at the small screen on his left wrist to see what Archie (what he nicknamed the drone) had spotted, and was given a thermal image viewed in shades of white, black, and gray.

On the roof of the Bridge Tower was a man holding a rifle aimed at the sky in a different direction that the drone; his direction, in fact.

"Shooter!" Sam pitched forward while toggling the thumbsticks next to his knuckles to semi-retract his Stark Industries' Fully Automated Light Conventional Operations Node wings to divebomb as he yawed heavily to the right, spinning in a barrel roll while plummeting towards the ocean to get out of line-of-sight of the target. "Bridge Tower roof! Armed with an assault rifle! All I got was a thermal image." He would have to manually select a different view on his left forearm while flying, and that would be impossible while taking evasive maneuvers. Something to add to the wish list of changes and lessons learned for the tech team back at Stark Tower. He could hear the sound of automatic gunfire off to his left as he dove towards the dark waters of the Pacific Ocean while keeping an eye on his altimeter, banking to the left to get closer to the ship by lifting his right shoulder to roll starboard first before arching his back and his feet behind him to yaw starboard to execute an aerial banking maneuver to use its above-water hull as cover. He had no idea how close the round were to hitting him, but he got to the safety of the large metal hull as cover as he flew below the deck line, taking his eyes off for any threats. Now flying out of danger, Sam tapped the control module on his left forearm to get a night-vision view of the shooter, Archie having locked onto the man while continuing to circle the ship. "Single male, adult age…" Sam squinted at the screen for a second.

"Left arm's weird. It's reflecting light." The Falcon called out, remembering what Nat had said about the potential assassin; he had a metal left arm prosthetic.

"_I'll engage the shooter."_ Steve called out, no doubt already moving to do so. Between his amazing athletic abilities and his impervious shield, he was the best option for taking on gunmen. _"Falcon, continue to sweep for other hostiles and the target."_ Sam was already making adjustments on his flight path in order to do so, gritting his teeth at the fact that whoever was on the _Lemurian Star_ seemed to have an idea who might potentially show up. While he wasn't Navy, he didn't think most would put a sniper on top of the Bridge Tower, so exposed against any aerial assets. Clint might have a point; they might have walked into a trap. Wilson swept around the vessel, going from starboard side to port side by flying around the bow of the ship and coming up to see an unknown woman standing on one of the containers, looking right at him.

"Got another bogie, middle of the container stack." _Jesus, where are these people coming from?_, Falcon thought to himself as he saw what appeared to be an average height and average build woman standing on top of a stack of Connexes wearing what appeared to be a black one-piece tactical suit similar to what Natasha wore. "Female, approximately eighteen to twenty-four years of age, brunette or black hair, Caucasian. Wearing Widow's wardrobe." He didn't see any weapons as he flew by, and damn near got shot out of the sky by…

…what the fuck…

…_green lightning?_

"_Falcon, status!"_ Jennifer Walters called out over the EarComm, her tone worried.

"Bogie is an enhanced!" Sam called out, still trying to comprehend what he saw. It looked like… "Jesus, she shot fucking green _lightning_ out of her hand! No weapons on her of any kind as far as I can tell." He was already swooping down for a pass, highly aware that all he had was a Heckler and Koch UMP45 Submachine Gun at the moment. He _could_ fire at someone while flying, but with friendly ground assets on a metal boat well-known for having fratricides due to ricocheting rounds, he was going to double-check before firing immediately. He banked hard with the UMP in his right hand to engage the woman…

…who was now _flying_. Suitless at that.

"Fuck. Houston, we've got problems." Wilson called out as he sling his Submachine Gun while he rolled to the port side hard, executing a diving barrel roll to avoid another arc of green lightning. "She shoots lightning _and_ flies around. She's like Iron Man without a suit!" He could see the woman's forearms almost glowing green on the inside as slight green contrails came from her hands and feet. "Her forearms flash up before she fires." He detailed off in case anyone else came face to face with her as Sam pulled up and hit the thruster toggle to full to gain altitude. "_Gungnir_? Be advised to hang back for the time being. I don't know if that bird has any defensive options, but me and her will probably be too close for a target lock." He reached about a thousand feet in the air and saw that the woman was easily following him, perhaps at about the same airspeed, too. "Alright, sweetheart, let's see who's the better pilot."

Sam turned off his jetpack, folded his wings, and let gravity do its thing as he tiled himself face down and aimed his Submachine Gun right at the woman flying right towards him.

* * *

Natasha Alianovna Romanoff was running for her life. From rats, of all things.

A _plague_ of them.

"Hawk! I could really use one of your explosive arrows right about now." Nat griped as she ran down the narrow nautical corridor, a brief glance over her shoulder showing her a _tide_ of rats following right after her, literally a blanket of them covering the floor chasing her as she dashed towards the access hatch that would take her to the exterior of the ship. She had never seen so many of the vermin before in her life, and there were hundreds, if not thousands, chasing her. She had no idea they could be that fast as she bolted through the access hatch and hopped onto the safety railing that would prevent someone from pitching over the gangway, her booted feet on top of the top bar while crouched on it, gripping it with her left hand to balance herself to see the rats stop in front of the access hatch, their beady eyes on her.

"Do you know what the natural predator of the Black Widow is?"

Nat felt a distinct chill in her blood from the feminine voice that was behind her… where there was no decking.

Drawing her Walter PPK 9mm pistol from her right thigh holster, she turned her head to look at a woman standing on top of the cargo container stack approximately thirty feet away from her and another ten feet above, looming over her position. The woman was about average height, looked to be a ginger or auburn-haired, and wore a one-piece tactical suit similar to her own; likely made of Nomex-and-Kevlar to be fire-resistant and bullet-resistant. Surprisingly, the vest on the woman's chest contained little in the way of equipment, and there seemed to be only one firearm upon her, what looked to be a Sig Sauer 10mm on her right hip with a few extra magazines. For someone who seemed to know that they would be facing someone as infamous as her, the unknown woman seemed sadly underprepared, standing on top of a container with her hands on her hips instead of arming herself. Yet Natasha saw that cherubic face look at her with a cruel glint, and that was when she noticed the eyes.

They were ice blue, like Ray Liotta's but more intense.

Romanoff had seen those kind of eyes before.

"Cute, adorable puppy dogs?" Natasha quipped, her tone light as she aimed her Walter at the woman; it was approximately just over a thirty foot shot, something she could do in her proverbial sleep. The woman wasn't even intimidated by the sight of a pistol in the hands of a more-or-less world-renowned asskicker pointed at her. Stupid… or having no need to worry about bullets. The woman _knew_ who she was… and seemed utterly disdainful.

"Nope." The woman's somewhat child-like voice replied, popping the 'p' at the end of her response, having never moved or changed position. Completely without fear; no nervous tic, twitches, tightening of the hands or the facial muscles. Completely and utterly without fear. That confirmed it in Natasha's mind. There was only one time she had ever seen a man or woman completely without fear; during an attack on the SHIELD Helicarrier ACVN-64 _Constellation_ that involved a man she utterly owed her life to.

"It's _bats_." The smile was without humor, too-bright on an emotionless face as the head turned to look to the left, and Nat looked to the right to follow where her gaze went.

"Oh fuck." Romanoff muttered as she heard the sound of flapping leather wings and the screech of ultrasonic vocal chords for the use of echolocation as _hundreds_ of flying rodents came from the night sky and practically _dive-bombed_ her as she leapt from the railing to the deck below, her boots slamming into the metal surface as she juked immediately to her left and began running down the open deck towards an access hatch that would have her enter the interior of the Bridge Tower on the ground floor. All she had to do was slip in and close the door…

…but Clint was barreling right out of the door she was heading to.

"RUN!" Barton shouted, his left hand plucking his bow that was resting diagonally across his body, already pulling an arrow out as Nat caught up to him, slowing down to stay at his side. Nat looked back to see a _fucking crocodile_ squeezing out of the hatch Hawkeye just exited, its toothsome maw opened wide and snarling its reptilian warning as an arrow went into its mouth, hitting somewhere near the tonsils as the massive head slumped over. She only caught a glimpse of what looked to be a miniature bear about the size of a rottweiler bounding over the dead lizard and giving chase.

"Who the _fuck_ emptied out a _zoo_ onto a boat!" Nat asked, running beside Clint as he pulled another arrow, pivoted, fired, pivoted again and was back to running forward. "Rats, bats, crocs, and God knows what else!"

They had almost reached the gunwales when the Widow got her answer; a black bear appeared from around the left side of the gangway around the Bridge Tower, looking right at them and bellowing fiercely at them from less than thirty feet away.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Clint plucked something off his belt and towards the bear. Nat's eye went wide at what he threw as she grabbed onto his arm and threw him towards the Connex to their right, putting him in between the metal container and herself as she shielded him from the detonation of an M67 Fragmentation Grenade. The sharp bark of the explosion was perforated by the sound of metal hitting metal as shrapnel sprayed in an omnidirectional area, generally lethal up to fifteen feet but able to injure up to fifty feet. Metal bits struck the Connex around them as Nat sucked in breath at the feel of a small but sharp piercing pain just above her left hip; fuck, she got hit. Then there was the pattering of falling shrapnel that came a second or two later from the fragments that fell from the sky caused by the explosion. "What the fuck next?" Clint asked as he pushed himself off the Connex and drew an arrow, firing a supersonic howler arrow at the coming creatures that were storming towards them, with a least an alligator, a wolf, rats, bats, and snakes all coming towards them. The high-pitched tone that shrieked at a hundred decibels seemed to affect the animals, causing them to stagger in their run, tossing their heads and snarling in pain. "Nat! Up!"

Natasha nodded as she interlaced her fingers together for an impromptu step, Clint hopping up to get his foot in the small cradle made by her hands as she vaulted him up at the same time as he jumped.

Barton went sailing thirty feet upward and landed on top of the cargo container stack.

Romanoff took a small grappling hook and tossed it up as she heard a small explosive warhead discharged, Hawkeye taking advantage of the higher ground as Nat pulled the cable taunt and climbed it up the side of the Connex wall, quickly scaling upward in a few seconds. She reached the top to find Clint engaging someone on the Connexes' tops; oh, the ginger.

Clint fired an arrow at their adversary, who dodged by leaning to the left sharply, and then pivoted to the left to dodge the next one. Natasha dashed forward, ignoring the pain from her shrapnel wound as she closed distance with the woman by leaping up and forward, clearing over a container lengthwise entirely to reign on her a Superman Punch as she struck the woman a glancing blow to her cheek as the ginger dodged at the last breath, still being clipped by Romanoff's fist. The woman spun slightly from the impact, but bounced back faster than Nat would have guessed, the redhead slipping to the side to avoid being hit herself as the woman threw a solid punch towards her face, and then blocked a follow-through punch aimed for her diaphragm, intending to knock the breath out of her. Blows were traded, and the woman was fast and reflexive; Nat would give her that. But she lacked the _decades_ of experience that the Black Widow had, able to turn holds against the woman whenever she went for a judo move or a ju jitsu grapple, blocking every punch and kick sent her way. The woman seemed to be of equal speed and reflexes… but that didn't equal an equal fighter as Nat had some of her own attacks make it past through her opponents' defenses; a punch to the chin, a shin to the side of the knee, an elbow to the short ribs, and a kick to the soft tissues of the inner thigh slipped through.

Of course, the woman was by herself, while Natasha always had a teammate to back her up.

A Buddhist Palm to the sternum sent the woman staggering back a few feet as Clinton Barton, her longtime partner and best friend, grabbed the woman by the collar to spin her around and face him, delivering a vicious headbutt to the upper portion of her ocular cavity, striking right where her right eyebrow was. The ginger's head snapped back from the blow, her body almost falling backwards if it hadn't been held up by Hawkeye, arms reeling as her legs lost their support. Clint stared at the woman's eyes, his own going wide with recognition as he pulled her in while he leapt up, drawing his head back to smash his forehead into hers once again when he dropped, the momentum and force hard enough that Nat winced at the bone-jarring sound it made as the woman was knocked backwards onto the Connex, falling into a heap unconscious. Clint was staggering on her feet, almost as if drunk.

"That's probably a concussion and a hairline fracture, Clint." Romanoff reprimanded the archer, her tone a little worried. Clint could get a little overprotective at times.

"One more and I get a free large fry." Barton replied, making Nat bark out a laugh, shaking her head as she looked to the unconscious woman. "Falcon, you still got your dance partner?"

"_Yeah, can't shake her off."_ Wilson replied over the EarComm, his tone harried. _"She's hot on my heels, but she can't seem to shoot that crazy lighting of hers too much when she's airborne. I'll bring her around."_ Clint was already toggling an arrowhead as he extended an arrow and drew it back, the fletching just in front of his ear as the shaft rested against the string and his first and second finger, his blue eyes focused. Natasha knew what made Clint so good, why he never missed. She never told anyone else what he told her, just like he never mentioned what she was to anyone else when she finally confided in him years ago. For Clint, it was the retribution he would never be able to complete, the arrow meant for a man he never got the chance to kill in the name of love and honor; the man who murdered his mother.

Every target Clint ever fired at always became his father.

Romanoff saw Sam zip through the air around the stern section of the ship, appearing around the Bridge Tower as Clint's bow traveled to the left slightly as his eyes stayed straight as he released the arrow, the bowstring snapping with a twang as the projectile flew through the air in an arc, even curving slightly to the right as the flying woman with a short green contrail came into view. As always, Nat held her breath while watching Barton shoot, as if her breath would somehow veer the arrow off course. She couldn't even see the arrow anymore in the deep darkness of night as the flying woman began to tumble out of the sky. Clint didn't miss.

Clint _never_ missed.

"What did you hit her with?" The Widow asked as she watched Hawkeye draw another arrow.

"CS Gas." Clint smirked, Nat shaking her head. CS Gas was a non-lethal aerosol used for such things as riot control and prisons. It cause the eyes to tear up while inducing a burning sensation, and heavily irritated the nose, mouth, and throat, causing the person to cough, gasp, discharge heavy mucus, and generally even fall to the ground. Natasha knew that, despite what she was capable of, CS Gas was something that would slow her down enough for a normal person to gain an edge. It was a smart move on Barton's part. "Let's detain and retrieve our little friend here." He nodded his head towards the woman he knocked out. "Noticed her eyes?"

"I did." They both knew what to look for. "I'll bind her up. We still have to find-"

"_Big Momma, Mongoose!"_ Came the voice of Commander Nate Dugan. _"Found and secured primary objective, but we've got the Terminator after us! Request reinforcements and immediate extraction!"_

"What's your location, Mongoose?" Nat asked as Barton was already switching out arrowheads.

"_Portside gunwale, heading astern."_

"Got this." Hawkeye said as he rushed over to the port side of the Connex container stack, Romanoff right next to him as she saw two men running towards the rear of the _Lemurian Star_, Nate along with a man in a simple suit rushing under them when something caught her eye; a man rushing much faster than any other man could, his left arm glinting with steel. Clint fired, and the arrow flew true, exploding several meters before it reached the man to release a bola net to entangle him. The net wrapped around the man as Hawkeye selected and drew another arrow quickly, firing that one as the man tore the net from off of him as he leapt up to avoid the next arrow, which exploded right where the man was located. The explosion tossed the man slightly in his leap to avoid being hit, and knocked him past the gunwale of the vessel and into the chilly waters of the Pacific. "And that's three out of three." Clint said, his tone pleased. "Every single one of you owe me a beer."

"_You earned it."_ Captain Rogers said as a blue-uniformed man came out from further up the bow, jogging to where the assailant once was, giving a quick look to see if the man had somehow grabbed the side of the cargo vessel. _"He managed to mangle a door shut on me and I had to find a way around. You were right, Widow; he's at least as good as I am. I haven't fought that hard against a single opponent since 1945."_

"_Ground team, we're dropping to container level in thirty seconds, prepare for extraction."_ Came the voice of Jennifer Walters over the EarComms. Natasha could already hear the sound of the _Gungnir's_ repulsor engines washing over as a blast of heat and wind came over the tops of the Connexes while she moved to secure their unconscious prisoner while Clint and Steve helped Nate and their target up the thirty-foot wall of stacked containers by having Steve launching them upward like Nat had Clint while Hawkeye would semi-catch them. Romanoff bound up the woman's wrists with a pair of ZipCuffs that probably weren't adequate for the job but would do for the moment before picking the unconscious woman up and tossing her over her shoulder while Sam landed on the deck of Connexes, his wings retracting to the sides of his jetpack while the eagle-like Archimedes attached itself to the device. The _Gungnir_ dropped to the swaying deck of the Connexes with the ramp open as the Avengers hustled inside, exfiltrating the _Lemurian Star_ as they embarked upon the C-17 Globemaster.

"Big Momma, this is Eagle." Captain America called out over the EarComm as he stood on the cargo deck with the rest of the team while Natasha took her burden to the nearest seat to secure. "All personnel loaded and accounted for, plus two visitors. Let's get some distance."

"_Leaving site at this time."_ Came Walters' voice over the EarComm. _"Please escort Mister Snowden to the loft as soon as possible."_

* * *

Author's Notes: DISCLAIMER - No animals were harmed in the making of this FanFic Chapter.

NeoPanamax - In the shipping industry, large cargo ships are defined by the canals that they can access, like that of the Saint Lawrence Waterway (which I believe is the smallest but accesses the Great Lakes in America) to that of the Suez Canal and the Panama Canal (which lets you skip continents). A NeoPanamax is over a thousand feet long. BTW, only one ship can traverse a canal at a time, and usually its a East-to-West followed by a West-to-East configuration. There's always a line, and sometimes it can take as long as a day for a vessel to get it's turn. Since no one sails the Cape of Good Hope (the southern tip of South America) due to its volatile seas and that it adds several days to a couple of weeks to a voyage depending on destination, waiting a day or two is still more efficient. The USS Missouri (BB-6 _Iowa_-Class Battleship) once traversed the Suez Canal and only had six inches to either side of the vessel from the walls of the canal. Canals operate with locks and waterways, 'filling' an occupied section while draining others in a series of open/close configurations. They really are a marvel of engineering and ingenuity that defeated _portage_; carrying a ship overland for the same purpose or sailing around Good Hope or the Hone of Africa and its very real threa of taking a ship down or apart.

I forgot to mention in _In The Season Of Wither, III_ that in the comic books/Earth-616, Clint Barton is deaf. His hearing was lost due to a villain named Crossfire using ultrasonic technology. He is deaf here as well, but as a result of a childhood disease.

Visit, Board, Search, and Seizure (VBSS) is the modern term for shipboarding tactics, and is practice by the SEALs, US Navy VBSS Teams, and USMC VBSS Teams. It is quite intensive, and can be as dangerous as an aircraft boarding considering that ship walls are metal and gunshots can ricochet drastically. The H+K MP5-N (and its ammunition) was specifically designed for such instances with 'slower' rounds to avoid possible fratricide.

No, the natural predator of black widows is not bats. It's preying mantises. Which a plague of those is certainly terrible. But bats sounded creepier.

A woman who controls animals? You'll find out who this is next chapter. But I've reimaged her into something a little more badass than a cute, chipper mutant.

I wanted to come up with a reason that makes Clint exceptional. I've watched Olympic Archery (Justin Huish, '96 Olympics, two-time Gold Medalist comes to mind) and the dedication is there… but only a few have ever had back-to-back wins or even multiple medals (those are generally South Koreans, who have by far the best archers in the world). So if it isn't practice or training… there's a reason. Something personal, something that would make a man never miss. In the comics, Deadshot became so good because he accidentally shot and killed his own brother. Hawkeye was trained by Trickshot and used by his brother. Instead, I went with Clint's comic history of having an abusive father that was responsible for the death of both himself and his wife in an auto accident while having an argument. Clint uses the parable of wanting revenge on his father to make himself exceptional.

CS Gas - Riot Gas, also the stuff the Army uses to douse basic training soldiers in the Gas Chamber. Fuck that shit. It sucks.


	22. Of Traitors And Assassins, II

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**Boeing C-17 Globemaster III "**_**Gungnir**_**", International Airspace, Pacific Ocean, December 9, 2012**

Edward Joseph Snowden was having a real shitty week. In fact, he had won the Gold Medal and Heavyweight Championship of shitty weeks.

Honestly, he was just happy he was alive.

The twenty-eight year old man was sitting in a military-oriented aircraft seat, the securing straps undone as his back pressed against the buckles of the rig harness, less inclined to worry about the little things such as having a metal securing buckle in the middle of his back and more worried about the sight of no less than… God, were these _all_ Avengers in front of him? He didn't even recognize three of them. He didn't see Tony Stark, there was no Hulk lumbering about the aircraft (thank God), and no Thor in sight. But there was certainly Captain Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Clint Barton right in front of him, armed and armored, looking at him intently. There were three others he didn't recognize; a woman with the look of a Government Agent written all over her, dressed in a business casual suit but certainly not looking as she she belonged behind a desk, an African-American man with some sort of flying rig strapped on his back, and the man that had pulled him out of a room guarded by two lethal-as-fuck _panthers_ whom had identified himself as a Navy SEAL.

And then there was Jennifer Walters. Who was glaring at him. Actually, she kind of scared him a little with the intensity of her gaze.

"Okay, I'm cooperating, but I haven't eaten in two days, ran out of water sometime yesterday, and was locked in a room with two panthers after the crew of the _Lemurian Star_ were killed by those three… whatever they were." Edward began, his words pretty much tumbling out. "I know they weren't on the vessel when it left because I was on that thing for three hours at the Port of Hawaii before it finally disembarked, and that would have been the perfect time to capture me. Hell, I didn't call you until after the first six hours or so just in case they intercepted my SatPhone call with the vessel being too far for a helicopter, too small for a plane to land, and whatever aircraft you might use being faster than any ship they might send. The only way I can think that they might have gotten on was _maybe_ an airborne jump unless they got some sort of VTOL personnel aircraft like yours or the QuinJet you guys had in the Battle of New York." The stress and adrenaline had him utterly exhausted, his words just pouring out. Well, these were the people he went to for help, and he wanted to help him. He just wasn't at his best. "I'll tell you everything or at least the important parts for now, but I need food, water, and a nap afterwards. I'm well beyond running on empty."

"Alright. That we can manage." The lawyer replied, looking to the SEAL and giving him a nod. The man dressed in black tactical gear and carrying a model of M-4 that fired something bigger than a 5.56 NATO round left without a word, likely to accede to his request. It was a little strange to see Jenn Walters wearing a white blouse and pencil skirt amongst men and women wearing obvious battle gear and that one Agent that was certainly armed with something in a shoulder rig. Then again, she was just as much their leader as she was their public face, as he understood it. "Now Mister Snowden, the rest we can get into later, but there's one question I want answered first.

"HYDRA."

Snowden figured as much.

"I haven't come close to reviewing a tenth of the information that I pulled from the NSA's collection of sensitive data and intercepts that they collect from around the world." Edward began, holding up the polycarbonate briefcase that he had manacled to his right wrist. Really, it was a hard drive stuffed in Styrofoam capable of carrying up to fifty terabytes of information at once without the possibility of being hacked. It was known as a Mnemonic Courier Case, what CIA and NSA Agents would carry to deliver intel and sensitive information to various stations and efforts throughout the world without host nations (or other state electronic surveillances) seeing a large spike in datafeed or clogging up bandwidths. Even SatFeeds and the oceanic waterlines were monitored; he knew that because that's what he did for a living up until three days ago. "But I've been working for the NSA as a sub-contractor for Dell first and then Booz Allen, maintaining cybersecurity and tracking any penetrations or attacks against American electronic infrastructures. I'm a white hat hacker whose job it is to hack into the many firewalls and encryptions to find weaknesses and exploits so we can fix the gaps in coverage to protect America and its people from state actors, cyberattacks, hacktivists… anyone that uses the internet internally or externally to exploit anything that can bring our country harm. Look," Edward saw the SEAL come back with two bottles of water and a no-bullshit MRE, handing it to him, "I'm a patriot. I love my country, and I was _proud_ of my job and abilities. I got paid a ridiculous amount of money to keep America safe, and I like to think that I was worth every penny of it." He was already tearing into the Meals, Ready-to-Eat, seeing that he had gotten the Spaghetti meal.

"So what made you go whistleblower?" Walters asked, standing there with her arms folded across her chest, looking at him in a manner that said that while she was reserving judgment, the spotlight was most certainly on him.

"Honestly? The NSA is spying on _everyone_." Edward replied as he pulled out the plastic bag that contained the spaghetti out of its flat cardboard box, tearing it open and pulling the fork out of its wrapper before digging in, eating it cold. He was so hungry he didn't give a shit about having cold crappy spaghetti. "That's probably no surprise to anyone, but the level of it is _scary_. I'm talking George Orwell's worst fucking nightmare and then some." He talked around his food as he uncapped one of the water bottles and took a quick swig to help get the clumpy spaghetti down. "In terms of physical surveillance and spying, we're probably at the top, but it could be the Brits or the Chinese." He shrugged his shoulders at that as he took another bite. "Electronic surveillance? We blow everyone out of the water. _Combined_. Other State Security Agencies send us their stuff for us to analyze and send back, everything from video, to electronic intercepts, text messages, e-mails, phone calls, chat room boards, even video game chat for anyone that does World of Warcraft or X-Box Live. You send something electronic, we know of it within five minutes. American, Canadian, British, Australian, French, German, Swedish, Spanish, Japanese, South Korean… those are the ones we have one _hundred percent_ coverage of."

"As in… every single person in America?" That was the black guy with the wings.

"Yes." Snowden took another drink before taking another forkful of cold spaghetti. He was already halfway done as the other people in the plane looked at one another for a moment before looking to the woman who looked like an FBI Agent.

"It could be possible, but the amount of information would be staggering." The woman admitted, shrugging her shoulders. "The Division has access to a great deal, but the biggest issue is the search engine. Looking up a specific codeword could bring up hundreds of thousands of results for a day or a week. An extensive search would take dozens of people hours to gather all the meaningful intelligence on a person or an event. Time and amount are the big factors."

"Not if you have an Artificial Intelligence as your search engine." The hacker said, scarfing the last of his spaghetti as he looked into the thick plastic bag of his MRE and found a wheat snack bread to devour. "There's a program that manages all the capture programs that we use called the Zenith Organizational Lexicon Algorithm that sifts and sorts through everything in real-time. We know something in five minutes, and the AI collates it and sends it to the appropriate files. You pick up a few words, like 'bomb', 'plane', 'terrorist', and 'Arab', and you can have hits within seconds to select what you need if you need generalization or specifics. It even has this Natural Language Program that learns and adapts for all languages, including code words, slang, the works."

"So how does this equal HYDRA?" Captain Rogers asked, his helmet and shield off, but otherwise wearing his signature red-white-and-blue uniform. Yeah, Captain America would be interested in that, no doubt about it.

"It's buried in the data, but I found hints and clues until I discovered it." Snowden replied, tearing the wheat snake bread out of its pouch and eating the slightly cardboard-tasting piece of… ugh, it would be criminal to call it bread despite that it was shaped like a piece of bread. "Everything that we collect is sent to various locations for processing and storage; Fort Meade, Roosevelt Roads, some location in North Dakota, another place in Colorado that I'm pretty sure is Iron Mountain. It's set up that way so that if anyone infiltrated any one of those, physically or electronically, you're only getting portions instead of everything. But I discovered a location where _everything_ is being sent and backed-up, something that wasn't on the NSA's little list of black sites and deniable locations. Now I couldn't find the actual physical location, it's near Washington DC. That's probably not alarming in of itself, but I couldn't find one agency, department, sector, sub-committee… anything American that had some sort of oversight over this site. So I looked into it, thinking a leak or someone tapping our feeds."

"Doing your job." The Hawkeye said, leaning against a bank of surveillance equipment that was obviously mission-oriented for the Avengers. The only thing up was an aeronautical radar showing clear skies as they flew well above what commercial airplanes flew at.

"Yeah, plus curiosity. Thought maybe someone like me was doing the same thing, finding evidence of illegal electronic snooping and tapping by the American Government on its own people for whatever reasons." Edward explained around his wheat bread. "I wasn't even sure what we were doing with all that information. I mean, I get that we're trying to protect the public from criminals, terrorists, arms dealers, slavers, sex traffickers, and normal conversations and texts will get caught up; nature of the job. But delete them after twenty-four or forty-eight hours. There's no need for the Government to know every single FICO Score in America, or to barnstorm Verison for its security passwords so they can tap into every cell phone on that carrier. That shit… scares me. That's the Big Brother George Orwell warned us about in 1948. Why would a Government need to do that? I mean that's the kind of shit the KGB and the _Stazi_ were doing and everyone was shitting on them for. But now it's us, but I couldn't figure out why."

"Control?" Jennifer mused, looking thoughtful. "You said there was an Artificial Intelligence that collated this information and intelligence. Is that the distribution point as well?"

"Looks like, though I haven't had a chance to investigate it fully." Snowden admitted, polishing off he wheat snack bread and going for the caramelized apple treat. God, he hadn't had an MRE since the Q-Course! "The location was established as an electronic file storage facility, but it's literally storing all the data we've ever collected; names, addresses, messages, calls, e-mails, credit and FICO scores, buying habits… it's some straight up Skynet shit right out of the _Terminator_ movies. My big concern was just that, as unrealistic as that might seem. Hell, I shit myself when I discovered we had an actual legitimate AI reading everyone's mail. It collects the data, collates it, distributes it… and then sends it to this one location I can't physically find yet because I've been too damn busy running for my life. I tripped over something, and I knew what it was.

"It was a fucking countdown, and it's no bullshit called the _Rot Shrader Deadline_." Edward said, looking at the apples in the tinfoil bag in his hand. That discovery had been the turning point in his life, and not for the better. "I know German. I know it means 'Red Skull', the man _you_ killed back in 1945." He looked to Captain America, who was frowning heavily. "If someone's actioning on something and is calling it 'Red Skull'? It's got to be either HYDRA or someone that wants to be HYDRA. I mean, don't ask me why anyone wants to be a Nazi scientific research and weapons development program that failed, but we still got Neo-Nazis and the Ku Klux Klan assholes running around, so I guess anything is possible."

"Anything more definitive?" The lawyer asked, though she wasn't glaring at him anymore.

"A few bits, but no big e-mail with a header stating HYDRA hiring practices or a membership list. Not that I found, at least." The hacker replied, patting the briefcase he had. "Everything I took is in here. I haven't accessed it since I ran for my life out of Kunia Tunnel, so if there's a software tracking program in it, we'll need to prepare if we don't want to face the unholy trinity again… well, the other two." He had seen them bring in the auburn-haired woman, unconscious and bound. "Really fucking glad I called you guys and you delivered. Doreen had a pair of fucking panthers looking out after me like I was their next meal. And thanks for getting me out of that room." He nodded to the SEAL whose name he still didn't know yet.

"Doreen?" The Black Widow piped up.

"Yeah, they had names. I saw their faces, too." That had everyone shift slightly. "We got any facial recognition programs here? All I got is first names, but faces might give you guys some idea of who or what they are. Never saw shit like that. I mean, Jessica was one scary fucking bitch with her lighting and the fact she ripped a steel door off its hinges when the sailors tried to protect themselves. And James had a Goddamn metal arm."

"The crew's dead?" That was the flying guy.

"I saw a good many of them killed by fucking zoo animals, shot by the Terminator guy, or fried by green lightning, so yeah, I think they're likely all dead." The former CIA Operative replied, shaking his head. He was no longer hungry. "I have no idea how they were able to track me or get to that ship. And those sailors are dead because I was on their ship. I know I really didn't have anything to do with it, but…" Edward slouched back in his chair, feeling more exhausted than ever. "God, they all probably had families, shipping cargo to make money for their wives and kids. Killed just because I happened to be on the same ship." While that wasn't on him, Snowden felt the guilt all the same. He was like a walking pariah; a threat to anyone he might be around. "Here, I'll give you the hard drive, but I need to lie down before I puke or pass out. I wouldn't access it on any regular device, and I would recommend a few good hackers, a Faraday Cage, and probably several Stand-Alone Servers, onion routers, switch-back signal interceptors, and anything that can nullify wifi. This thing is the electronic version of a dirty bomb, and it's killing people just by existing." He reached into a pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the key for the handcuff for the Mnemonic Courier Case, unlocking it from his wrist before handing it over to Jennifer Walters. "As promised, Miss Walters. Just take my warning _extremely_ seriously."

"I will. Get some rest, Edward. We'll go over more when you wake up." Jennifer looked over to Captain Rogers. "We have another interview to conduct."

"I do have one thing before you sleep." Captain America asked, his tone neutral. "This countdown? When is it over?"

"The fifteenth." The NSA Analyst replied, looking down at his hands for a moment before looking back up and looking into the blue eyes of Captain Steve Rogers before he spoke again.

"As in six days from now."

* * *

With a sniff of something sharp and jarring, Doctor Doreen Allene Green, (DVM) was brought back to consciousness confused and wild, finding herself looking at a black-robed redheaded woman in front of her holding a small packet that had been split open between her fingers. _Smelling salts?_, the Veterinarian thought as she looked around quickly, finding herself in an unknown location, though it looked to be a military-oriented plane filled with people staring at her. It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing, her brain trying to catch up with her eyes and she found herself looking at several individuals, five men and three women looking at her. Most of them were in some semblance of uniforms, though hardly conforming, and two of the women were in more business-oriented attire. Several of them were armed, and one was legitimately carrying a shield while another was armed with a bow.

Doreen blinked a few times, seeing the man carrying the shield wearing a red, white, and blue-styled uniform with a large disk-like shield in the same pattern of colors.

_Holy shit, that's Captain America! I'm… staring at the Avengers!_

She looked at the woman in front of her; redheaded female, black tactical suit, Black Widow. Guy with bow; Hawkeye. Woman in white blouse and black pencil skirt; Jennifer Walters. She saw another familiar face, gentleman in a normal business-casual suit with prescription eyeglasses; Edward Snowden. The rest she didn't know, the African-American man holding a Submachine Gun, the Caucasian man holding what looked to be an M-4, and a woman in a business-casual suit but holding a Sig Sauer. Every single one of them was looking at her, and most of the weapons were pointing at her, too.

_Fuck, I'm dead,_ Doreen thought to herself sadly as she accepted the inevitable. Better dead than what her life had been after Camp Leary.

"Wish I could have told my parents goodbye." The Veterinarian said softly to herself, as her eyes went wide at the realization. "D-did I just talk out loud? Please tell me I talked out loud!" _Oh God, please say it's so!_

"Yes." The man with the bow replied, Hawkeye having an arrow in his bow, but the weapon not drawn, just at the ready.

"I'm… I'm free! Oh thank God I'm free!" Doreen cried out as she closed her eyes and began to weep, hot tears spilling out her eyes and down her cheeks as she sobbed, laughing at the same time. "Y-you have no idea how hard I prayed for this!" She went to wipe at her tears, but realized her hands were manacled behind her and her body secured to a military-oriented aircraft chair with a five-point harness over her body. That killed the mood somewhat, but it didn't erase it. "I guess not being handcuffed is out of the question? Because I seriously want to give you guys hugs. I'm not kidding about that."

"We'll let the handcuffs come off if you show yourself to be cooperative." That was Jennifer Walters, who was standing next to Captain Steve Rogers. "Five questions with five correct answers. Not answers you think we want to here; the truth."

"If I know the truth, then I'll tell it to you." Doreen replied, really looking forward to being _truly_ free. She understood their caution, though; didn't blame them for it even if that meant a pair of handcuffs and her hands behind her back. It was pretty uncomfortable, but still much better than before. "If I don't know but I have a guess, I'll let you know. Trust me, I much rather be here than not."

"Question one." The lawyer said, her blues boring onto her. "Who are you?"

"Doctor Doreen Allene Green, Doctor of Veterinarian Medicine, University of Michigan." The twenty-six year old woman replied, looking at the lawyer. "I just got my Doctorate this past May, though I don't have a license yet." That had a few of the Avengers looking at her oddly.

"Question two." Walters' tone was the same as before. "Who were you working for?"

"That's a bit complicated; they had several names." The auburn-haired woman answered. "I… can only go off what they told me. I wasn't in a position to ask questions. Most of the time, they called themselves 'shield'? I don't know who or what that is." That had more looks. "But sometimes, behind closed doors or with certain people, they whispered 'hail hydra' to each other, like it's a codeword or something. It wasn't explained to me."

"Question three." Doreen guessed she was doing alright. "How did you end up working for them?"

"They had this… object." A shudder ran through her, remembering it well. "It was a staff with a curved blade for a head, and a bluish jewel in its centerpiece. Two men held down my arms and someone stabbed me with it, though not to draw blood. It…" Another shudder ran through her. "God, it's like it shove _something_ inside of me. Something powerful, like another mind but much more powerful than my own. I was just…" Tears came again, but these weren't the joyful kind. "It was like being put in the backseat of the car, forced to watch but with no control. I could see, I could hear, I _could_ think, but… but it wasn't _me_. It… it was horrifying." Memories came with that admission, memories she hated. "God, they had me… had me _kill_ people. Just gave me peoples' names and where they lived, and…" Doreen wept as she remembered their faces, the looks of terror they had as she watched on in agony. "God, please forgive me." She sobbed, the tears cascading down her face. "They never told me why, and I never asked. Men. Women. Just… murdered! They made me kill people I'd never met, didn't know, like I was some _fucking_ pawn for them to play with to keep their hands clean! I… never killed anyone before, never _hurt_ anyone before and they just… _used_ me like some killing machine!" Doreen couldn't keep it in, the guilt and the grief taking over as she finally cried the tears her actions had caused. "It was so many _people_…"

"Question four." Jennifer asked softly, giving the Veterinarian a moment to collect herself, her sobs lessening as she looked to the lawyer. "How did they discover you had abilities?"

"They didn't discover _shit!_" The woman spat out, the grief losing to the horror and rage within her. "They fucking _did this to me!_ Strapped me down to a table and injected me with something they called 'cree material' before slipping a damn oxygen mask on my face and pumping it full of some noxious gas. I… passed out for I don't know how long." It had been nearly two months since that had happened, but she remembered it well. "I woke up in some sort of… shell or… cocoon or something." The woman that wasn't the Black Widow was muttering obscenities under her breath. "I broke my way out, and… I was better than before, their words." Doreen spat that out, too. "I found out I could control animal telepathically, get them to do whatever I wanted with a thought. They really loved the thought that I could murder people and make it look like a vicious animal attack or a mauling." The Doctor snorted at that as she shook her head sadly. "Oh, found out the fun way that I can survive being electrocuted to a fair degree, can bounce pistol rounds, and can break a two-by-four with my bare hands. They had a lot of fun tests for me to do. I was practically standing in front of a fucking firing squad to see what I could take." She bit down on a retort, trying to control her broiling emotions. "Not so immune to rifle rounds, shotguns at close range, fire, acid, or chemical weapons." The group in front of her looked rather horrified by that.

"Question five." Doreen didn't want to say she was getting tired of the questions, but she was certainly tired of being handcuffed. She probably _could_ break them, but with that many weapons and people, it wouldn't go well for her.

"Will you help us stop them?"

Doctor Green locked her eyes right onto Jennifer Walters'.

"They… _scare_ me. Frighten the absolute shit out of me." The woman admitted bitterly, her head sinking slowly as she found herself looking down at the plane's metal deck for a moment, fear welling up within her. "They got some sort of Goddamn Doomsday plan that they've supposedly accelerated because of you." Her eyes snapped up to lawyer. "Not just the Avengers; _you_." That had the CEO frown. "I don't know why. But the thought of being under their control again?" Doreen shuddered at the thought, her eyes closing at the barest hint of it. "You… don't want to know what that's like, to have your brain put in a jar and forced aside, to be responsible for so much pain and death without ever having a say, to being tortured and experimented on and never being able to scream because they told you to be silent and you absolutely obeyed without question. I…"

Her eyes opened as she looked at Jennifer.

"They have my _best friend_ under their control."

Doreen's tone was pure steel when she said that. There wasn't an ounce of fear.

"When I was in training, before?," she continued, "I had her. Maybe I would have made it on my own, but I had her at my side and I was all the better for it. I… I never had a friend like her, someone who was absolutely at my side every step of the way, making me better, making me believe in myself all the more." There was the barest of smiles on her lips as Doreen remembered that, something she could hold onto. "No matter how hard or difficult it got, I had Jess. She made me laugh during the hard times and bad times, pushing me on with determination and belief when I had doubts, made me feel… like I really was capable, that I had it within me. I've had a lot of friends before, but those were school friends and acquaintances, visceral friends who were there during the calm times. I thought I knew what having a best friend meant until I met Jessica. Now I know better. Now I know what it really means to have a friend, someone you would gladly call family.

"Nothing in this life scares me more than the thought of facing them, of that… _thing_ that stole me, that took my _life_ from me… but they have her." Doreen tried to blink back the tears as she sniffled a little, her head slowly shaking.

"For her, I will." The Doctor of Veterinarian Medicine replied, her eyes looking right at the Chief Executive Officer of the Avengers, never veering. "What they did to me they did to her. She didn't deserve it, and they don't deserve her. Every thing about them that scares me, she is suffering right now. As long as she's under their control, _I'm_ not free. I need to free her so she can see her family again, so I can hold her and tell her everything will be alright and mean it when she breaks down from all the things they made her do and all the things they did to her. She…" the Doctor snorted, "…she has two younger sisters that she wants to be a good example for and a mom she wants to make proud. I think that was her motivation through training, through all the workouts and forced marches and hand-to-hand combat."

"Um, what kind of training are we talking about here?" That was the man holding the M-4. "I thought you were a Veterinarian."

"I got my license at Michigan, but I got this letter for a job opportunity. I thought it was… it made me feel special." Doreen remembered getting that letter, feeling floored by it. She had her reservations, of course, but the thought of being selected made her feel like she had been noticed, that there was something about her that had be recognized. "I had just completed my training at Camp Leary and they had ten of us in a room. We thought we were the best in our class before… before…" She easily remembered two men with ice-blue eyes holding her arms as she fought and struggled, the tip of a long staff touching her heart, injecting her with…_ nonono, don't go back there!_

"You're CIA?" Jennifer Walters asked, her tone… odd.

"I really don't know anymore." Doctor Green replied with a shrug. "I went through the training and passed the last day, but I don't know what they think about me now. I somehow doubt the CIA would approve of this kind of thing." She was physically inside a CIA-owned building inside a controlled and secured CIA compound when she had been attacked. Doreen didn't know if the men who had used the Scepter on her were CIA or not, but they had the authority and authorization to enter into Camp Leary with an object straight out of the Battle of New York.

"You said your friend's name was Jessica? Two younger sisters." The lawyer asked, holding a fist to her mouth, seemingly trying to keep something bottled in. Doreen was getting a bad vibe off of it.

"Jessica Miriam Drew?"

"Yes." The auburn-haired woman watched as Jennifer's face morphed to one of grief as she covered her mouth to stifle a sob, a wave of grief breaking over as Doreen knew, knew without being told. Jessica had mentioned her mother had worked in San Bernardino but now had a job in New York City, and that she was a lawyer. There was a rather famous example of that standing right in front of the Doctor, and the pieces fell together; Jessica had never once said her _mothers'_ name, just the one that had given birth to her but left her family when Jess was six. _This is the woman that Jess talked so much about, the woman she looked up to, the mother she wanted to make proud_, Doreen felt her heart break at the sight of a woman she knew had fought for the people but was now dealing the the potential loss of her daughter. This could have been _her_ parents learning what had happened to her, but she had inadvertently told Jessica's mother without knowing. Most of the others looked uncomfortable, and several of them looked pissed. _Jess… Jess knew the Avengers,_ she realized, seeing that the name _Jessica Miriam Drew_ wasn't just some random name to them, but a woman they knew. Doreen looked at their faces, seeing several different emotions etched in them. The lawyer had walked away, no doubt silently weeping at what she had learned, and seeing her standing there absorbing that terrible knowledge broke Doreen's heart.

_No, I'm not going to let them win._

Doreen pulled. Her wrists began to hurt, metal biting into her skin. She ignored it, pulled harder.

With a snap, a link in the handcuffs broke its weld as the Veterinarian's wrists became unbound, her hands moving to the rotating connector of her five-point harness that secured to the aircraft seat she was in, more for safety than restraint. She twisted the connector as four of the belts fell off, only the right shoulder one still containing the connector. The Doctor saw at least half of the Avengers watching her intently as she slowly stood from her seat, rubbing her wrists and grimacing from the pain, only seeing a little bit of blood coming from the scrapes she had caused from breaking a pair of handcuff. Well, really the chain. She looked to Captain Steve Rogers, her eyes darting to where Jennifer Walters was, separated from the group, looking for permission. Thankfully, he seemed to understand her silent question as he gave her a nod, knowing what she wanted to do.

Doctor Doreen Allene Green stood up from the seat and slowly approached the Chief Executive Officer of the Avenger, taking her first step into setting things right.

* * *

"Miss Walters?"

The tentative voice of Doctor Doreen Green wasn't nearly strong enough to cut through the wake of grief that Jennifer Walters felt at the thought of what had happened to her daughter Jessica Drew, what was happening to her. She only had to think of Jessica Jones and the turmoil that the black-haired woman went through under the auspice of Kilgrave to have a strong idea of the possibilities that could exist. Yet Kevin Thompson, as malevolent as he was, had been but a single actor with rather petty schemes of grandeur. This was different.

This was HYDRA; the enemy.

A gentle hand went to her shoulder, and Jenn wiped at her tears to see the younger woman's cherubic features looking at her in sympathy and understanding.

"I meant what I said earlier." The Veterinarian said softly as she gently held Jenn's shoulder, as if to reassure her. "Jessica… she's one of the best people I've ever met. CIA Training is as tough as you can imagine and then some. I had her, and we were… we were inseparable." There was a sad smile on the younger woman's face. "I never had a friend like her, someone who made me feel like I was all the better for it. I like to think I would have passed on my own, but having her on my side?" Doreen's hazel eyes closed quickly. "God… she's still there. I _can't_ let that happen. At least before, we were together. I couldn't do anything about it, but at the least we weren't alone, I knew that… I was there for her in spirit even if I couldn't say a word. I don't know if that makes any sense."

"I know what you mean." The lawyer replied, her voice still thick with grief though the tears had stopped falling. "Sometimes you have no idea what to do to help someone, but if the only thing you can do is be there for them, then it's enough, for both you and them."

Doreen took one of Jennifer's hands, holding it in both of her own. The Veterinarian couldn't hide the fact that her hands were different now, that they had been changed like _she_ had been changed, Jennifer feeling her heart skip at the sight of her claw-like fingernails that looked like they could tear into so much more than what a normal person could do. _No, think on that later,_ Jennifer thought to herself as she felt her hand clasped gently, looking at Doreen's hazel eyes. She knew Doreen had seen the lawyers' eyes widened at the sight, but the Esquire had held any comments on the short, narrow claws that the Doctor now had, more akin to that of a cat's claws than human fingernails.

"Miss Walters, I know you don't know me." The Doctor of Veterinary Medicine began. "I know you don't trust me, and considering what I was doing like an hour or so ago, I probably don't have many chances with you, either. But at least ten people in my CIA training class had that _fucking_ thing pushed into their chests and turned into _slaves_. We…" Doreen was struggling, fighting through her personal turmoil, "we were _all_ made into… _this_," those cherubic features went dark and sour with anger and pain, "and… not many of us survived, I'm afraid." _How many_ didn't_ you see?_, Jenn wondered but kept silent. Doreen was struggling as is. "I was under their total influence for two months, and all I could think of was being free and escaping! But now that I am?" The auburn-haired woman shuddered a little; freedom always came with a price. _Always_.

"I… I owe Jessica; I owe your daughter." Doreen Green said, her hazel eyes strong, her voice filled with conviction. "I most certainly _fucking owe them_." There was no doubt in that voice. "There are men and women under their control, their minds sealed from their bodies, forced to do their Goddamn bidding without any hope. I can't imagine a worse fate.

"Please, let me help."

Jennifer looked into those hazel eyes, looking for doubt or deceit. Years as a lawyer had her fine-tune the bullshit detector she had when dealing with clients both potential and actual, jury selections, other lawyers, and company assets. It took a real bona fide bullshit artist to pull one over on her, and Doreen didn't really fit the bill much less showed the signs. She generally wanted to help, and had reasons that Jenn found that she respected. The Doctor could have walked away, gone home, or folded into a little ball and cried herself to sleep. Yet she elected to face something she personally feared in the name of others. The lawyer looked to Captain Steve Rogers, knowing that the Super Solider had heard every word. Steve gave the slightest nod of his head.

"Okay, you're in." Jennifer said, placing her remaining hand on top of Doreen's. "Not a portion, not a part of the way, not just on the weekends, not when you get around to it." The lawyer gripped the Doctor's hands firmly so she understood the significance. "Here. Now. Today. Tomorrow. Whatever the threat, whatever the cause. No backing out, no back-up plan. We live free or we die trying, no other middle ground. Do you accept?"

Doreen looked at the lawyer with wide eyes, knowing what was being asked as the Doctor gulped a little. She wasn't being blithe about it; that was good.

"With my heart and soul." The Veterinarian replied, nodding her head. "They took it away from me, you gave it back. I… I want to be able to look in a mirror again and like what I see." Those eyes slammed shut for a moment, hiding the pain inside before they slowly opened once more, hazel eyes looking at her own. "I will see this through, and… I would like it if I could be there afterwards. I… I think I've got a few things to figure out on my own, but it would be good to be with people who would understand where I'm at and where I've been."

"'_Who, if not for us?'_" Commander Nathaniel Troy Dugan quoted Scripture. It had many of them nodding.

"Everyone go get yourselves something to eat or take a nap." Jennifer said after she released Doreen's hands, looking to the rest of the Avengers. "We're going to have to start working on the information that Mister Snowden brought us to find ourselves our next mission, so for now take the opportunity to get the rest you need and prep yourself for future strikes and excursions. I have a feeling that this is going to be a very long week for us." Everyone was nodding in agreement when Jenn felt her cellphone vibrate in her pocket. Pulling out the Stark Industries' iStark (ugh, that name!), the lawyer saw the holographic screen display who was calling her. Jenn frowned for a moment, wondering why Kamala Khan would be calling her at such a time, trying to figure out the time different for the East Coast. It must be early Monday morning for Jersey City, and the fifteen-year old young woman still had a week of school before Christmas Break. She could only guess that it was something important.

"Kamala? Is everything okay?" Jenn asked as she answered her phone, putting the device to her ear.

"_Oh thank God you picked up!"_ The young woman's voice was harried, almost hysterical, and sounded as if she had been crying. _"I don't know what's going on and I'm scared and they're after me…"_

"Okay, Kamala, take a deep breath." Jenn's felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up hearing the teenagers' words practically tripping over themselves. She sounded frightened, and her words weren't helping reassure the lawyer at all. _They're after me_ had her mind focused. "Where are you, who's after you, and what's going on?" Jenn had already waved towards Steve to get his attention to point at her phone and mouth the word _Kamala_ to him. The Super Soldier's face went to stone, likely guessing something bad was happening with the young woman.

"_They took my parents!"_ The young woman practically bawled over the phone. _"They kicked in our door and arrested my parents for _terrorism!_" _Jennifer felt her heart sink at that; Yusif and Muneeba Khan weren't terrorists at all and disdained the actions of their fundamentalist and insurgent kin. _"I was watching cartoons in my room when they broke in and… I panicked! I turned on _Miss Marvel_ and I ran while they tried to arrest my Life Model Decoy! I left my p-parents b-behind… and… and…"_ Jenn's heart broke as she her the young woman beginning to bawl. But it was the next words that haunted her.

"_I-I heard gunshots when I left. T-Two of them."_

Oh no.

"Kamala, I need to know where you are at." Jenn tried to keep her voice as calm and as soothing as possible. She was anything but, but Kamala needed her to be the voice of reason and care right now despite what Jennifer was feeling. A child was in danger, and the lawyer was going to find out who had made that happen and make them regret it for the rest of their lives. "Tell me, and we're going to get you."

"_I'm… I'm in Upper West Side, where the Tunnel dumps off."_ Kamala had taken the Lincoln Tunnel to Manhattan, where automobile and pedestrian traffic was thick. Smart, she would be anonymous amongst the crowds where safety would be public. Whomever had moved against the Khans in New Jersey might not have the same pull in the State of New York. At least, that was what Jenn was hoping. _"I didn't have time to grab anything but my phone, and I'm currently at a clothing store in my pajamas."_ The fear in her voice was like a sharp knife in Walters' chest.

Someone hadn't gone to the Khans' house on a terrorism charge, but to collect a young woman who worked alongside the Avengers. _How had they known?_ Yusif was a loan manager at Bank of America, and Muneeba was a traditional homemaker; not exactly extreme Muslim fundamentalism. Kamala didn't say _who_ had broken in, which was odd; the FBI generally _loved_ shouting that acronym every five seconds during a bust, especially with suspected terrorists. So it likely wasn't the FBI, and Homeland Security got the FBI to do the dirty work. That meant…

_Could it be that HYDRA is trying to take us out?_ But how would HYDRA even know that Kamala was… _oh_.

_Jessica,_ Jennifer thought to herself. Jessica knew. That was going to have to be a grief that would be bottled up and saved for later.

"We need to get to Manhattan." The lawyer said to Captain Rogers as she covered the mouthpiece of her cellphone before returning to her conversation with the frightened teenaged girl. "Kamala? I'm going to need your location. I'm going to send a friend to you since we're currently over the Pacific right now."

"_I'm… at a boutique store called Minnie's. On 79th and Eleventh Avenue."_ The young woman's voice sounded very hurt and frightened, and Jenn could feel her heart breaking at that sound.

"Okay. Kamala? _Stay there._ I am sending someone to you, and you will recognize them on sight." Jenn promised as she ended the call, pulling up her contact list and found the number she was looking for under the heading of _Alias Investigations_. The lawyer offered a quick prayer that the person on the line was not a drunk wreck as she toggled the 'call' button and heard the phone ring three times before it was picked up.

"_Yeah, I'm awake, Trish. Nag me later when I'm not sleeping in."_ The voice said, groggy and slightly slurred. This was her back-up plan; a traumatized recovering drunk. But Jenn didn't have anyone else, no other real options.

"Miss Jones? Kamala desperately needs your help. Her life is in danger." There was a distinct five-second pause over the line, and Jennifer wondered if she was even heard.

"_Where am I going, and who am I hitting?"_ The voice finally asked, and there was no grogginess or slurring in any of Jessica Campbell Jones' words.

None whatsoever.

* * *

Author's Notes: I gloss over some of the things that Earth-1218 Edward Snowden 'whistleblew' about what the NSA was doing without going over it word for word. But pretty much everything I put in the story was from context, but made into a HYDRA program.

Did anyone catch the name of the AI? A little Easter Egg for you!

Doreen Green, in the comics and various cartoons, had a prehensile (but utterly useless) three-foot squirrel tail and generally had three squirrels (or chipmunks) that accompanied her. Sometimes she had 'furry' ears, other times it was a headband with squirrel ears. None of this is true here. The big differences will be that Doreen has cat-like claws on her hands and feet, she will be able to move and fight with cat-like grace (such as landing on her feet and better jumping skills), and animal telepathy through many species, but generally no aquatics, insects, and only a few avians. Mammals and rodents are highly-attuned to her, thus she can control some of the more dangerous species, such as Honey Badgers, Wolverines, Bears, Wolves, Lynx, Cougars, and even reptiles such as snakes, alligators and crocodiles. There you go; I made Squirrel Girl a badass. She's probably getting a different codename too.

As a joke, during the Fantastic Four cartoon series in the 90's, when the Thing/Benjamin Grimm retired, Squirrel Girl was one of the choices where she had a nature background, three squirrels, and a couple of blue jays and a rainbow popping out somewhere. Ultimately, the Thing was replaced with someone else. (see Earth-616: Jennifer Walters/She-Hulk)

To create more superheroes (or villains), I went the _Agents of SHIELD_ route and something that Marvel Comics used pretty extensively; Inhumans. It seems silly that injecting someone with 'Kree' blood (not 'cree' as Doreen said, relaying a word she _heard_ but never saw), would change a person; injecting foreign blood into anything generally causes internal hemorrhaging and clotting/coagulation. It would make more sense that the injection is _genetic modification_ or perhaps _retroviral therapy_ (as viruses contain DNA), and Terragen Mist/Gas used as a catalyst (not so different from the Super Soldier Serum, which was a chemical enhancement further augmented by Vita-Rays). This is how I will explain Doreen Green and Jessica Drew going from Mach I Human Beings to Metahumans. I will not incur the word _Inhuman_ though. It sounds kinda racist when you think about it; who wants to be known as _not-human_?

Yes, the last little bit was fast. But I wanted to cover Kamala's portion before I got to the next part, which will detail something that is way-left-of-canon pertaining to two other movies.

I don't know if I'm actually going to kill the Khans or not. Haven't decided yet. Where's… my Quarter of Fate at?

Not the last we've seen of Jessica Jones!


	23. Of Traitors And Assassins, III

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**Minnie's Boutiques, 79th Street and Eleventh Avenue, Upper West Side, New York City, New York, December 10, 2012**

_-5 Days before __**Rot Shrader**__ deadline_

Author's Notes: WARNING! Grimdark setting has been raised. Don't expect a lot of smiles.

I also added the first official LI in this story that isn't canon-established. It wasn't mentioned earlier (though it's been intended for some time by me) to add to the tension of the plot.

* * *

Kamala Aisha Khan stood in the back of the small boutique store known as _Minnie's_, occupying the ladies' section that was more oriented for the slim and trim as oppose to the more height-weight proportion variety. Normally, a trip to a clothing store would have the fifteen-year old young woman doing what any other American teenaged woman would do; go shopping. But the clothes and the shoes didn't interest her as she stood in her Iron Man pajama pants, Captain America nightshirt, and Incredible Hulk fuzzy slippers (all gifts from Miss Jennifer Walters). Kamala was very self-conscious that she had fled her home only in her pajamas, grabbing her Apple iPhone before jumping out the window after activating her _Miss Marvel Project_ to confuse whomever had kicked in the front door of her house and stormed in while she had been gleefully watching Saturday Morning cartoons. _Justice League of America_ had been interrupted while Batman pummeled anonymous lackeys of the Joker with the sound of the front door being staved in and shouts of _'get down!'_ and _'don't resist!'_. Kamala had panicked, hearing many booted feet and the utterly soul-carving words of _'under arrest for charges of terrorism'_ had been announced while several feet went up the stairs to clear the rest of the house while her _Abbu_ and _Ammi_ were being arrested. The fifteen-year old had panicked, knowing that her family weren't terrorists. It was a fear that every Muslim-American had ever since September Eleventh and enhanced by the War on Terror in Afghanistan and Iraq. The young woman had grabbed her cell phone, activated her Life Model Decoy, and went right out the window.

She was rather self-conscious that she wasn't wearing a bra or any kind of _hijab_.

That had been more than two very tearful hours ago.

Thankfully, the boutique wasn't busy, and the young woman was able to amble in the slim and trim lady section while keeping an eye on the front entrance without too many hassles. The clerk/cashier woman, only a few years older than herself, was more interested with the going-ons of her phone and likely social media while Kamala haunted the rear of the store, practically a ghost. That was a good thing, considering.

The front door opened to the chiming of a bell that was struck by the opening object to alert the admittance of someone as Kamala looked to see who it was while the ladyclerk merely rolled her eyes in the vague direction, the multiple piercings of her face and the rather wild hairdo she sported indicating that she probably could care less who it was as long as she was drawing a paycheck. The young woman hid behind a circular rack of feminine jeans and looked through the hangers and pants to see a woman approximately ten years or so older than she with raven-black hair and a leather jacket over her lithe frame. Kamala's eyes went wide with recognition.

"Jessica!" The Pakistani-American woman blurted out, recognizing Jessica Jones on sight from the mission to Germany that the Avengers had done three months prior in September. Kamala texted the private investigator on a semi-weekly basis on the little stuff that was going on, keeping her in the loop and just keeping connected with her. Kamala knew that Jessica was special; she had powers though the investigator didn't know how she gotten them exactly. Curiosity had the young woman ask about a thousand or so questions on what Jessica could do, what she had done, and what it was like. Thankfully, Jessica had been pretty good at keeping correspondences as the both of them talked about their lives. The twenty-four year old woman had gone through a rough patch (Kamala knew that details had been glossed over likely due to her age but she respected the privacy) but was slowly on the mend, admitting that she had been seeking counseling for grief management and alcohol. Kamala… kinda looked up to the private investigator; the woman who was a survivor, who had braved her worst fear for the sakes of others.

"Kamala!" The mid-twenties woman opened up her arms as the teenager practically tackled her with a hug, rushing through the store as the dam that held in the grief crumpled, the young woman sobbing into the taller womans' bosom, clutching her tightly. "I've got you now, okay? Let it out while you can."

"I just… I just…" _My parents!_, Kamala wanted to sob, to scream, to pummel, to sink to the floor and let the agony wash over. _They must be so worried!_ But they had been arrested on incorrect charges. One wasn't _suppose_ to run when the police pulled one over or went to arrest a person, correct charges or not. The system said that things would work themselves out. But Kamala had never heard the word _Police!_ being mentioned once when men invaded her home. There had been no sirens (there were rules about that, but Kamala didn't know them), and there certainly hadn't been any police cars on Grove Street when she chanced running across it, seeing only blacked-out Sports Utility Vehicles with government plates, not one New Jersey State Police vehicle or Jersey City Police Officer. Federal cops were suppose to notify the local authorities, and there was almost always someone of that jurisdiction available if only as coordination or as a liaison. _If it was an illegal arrest… my parents were probably rooting for me_, Kamala thought, but then she remembered hearing the sound of two distinctive mini-pops that were a few seconds apart, too deliberate and too separate to be some vehicle backfiring or some other explanation. She had been running across Grove Street when it happened, and it came from the direction of her house. "I don't know if they're alive or not!" The young woman sobbed into Jessica's chest, her face pressing into the fabric of the womans' shirt as she bawled.

"You're alive, and that's what they would want." Kamala felt a hand smoothing out her hair, brushing it back in a soothing manner. "Right now, we take the little victories where we can, while we can. I don't doubt Jenn's going to get to the bottom of this, and then someone's going to find out their ass has a bullseye tattooed on it meant for a rocket." Kamala just nodded, her face rubbing into Jessica as she did so. She was lost, hurt, and grieving, and right now being in the arms of Jessica Jones was the safest place in the world for her right now. Miss Walters had obviously called the private detective to get her, and Jessica had dropped everything to do just that. Kamala hugged the older woman in a way that was only reserved for families. "Let's get those tears dried up so we can get out of here. We've got a rendezvous in about an hour and a half, but first we have an appointment at an Oriental restaurant that I know not too far from here. Figured the best way for us to lay low is not to move around too much. Plus, I haven't eaten today yet, and I'm certain you probably won't say no to some food." Kamala's stomach decided to betray her right then and there by grumbling loudly, reminding the young woman she hadn't eaten yet. All the running and the panic had her running ragged, and Chinese food did sound pretty good.

"Okay." Kamala admitted defeat, pulling away from Jessica as she wiped away the tears she had cried, wincing slightly at the mess that she had made on Jessica's shirt. "Um, there is one kinda itsy-bitsy favor I want to ask, though." The young woman looked down at her pajama-clothed body and then back up to Jessica, her face twisting into embarrassment as she shrugged her shoulders. "I _might_ just stick out a little."

"I dunno, I'm really digging those Hulk slippers." The raven-haired woman told her with a smirk, making Kamala blush a little. "Well, we're in luck, we're in a boutique. Pick utilitarian, because I just have one of those feelings we're probably going to be stuck with what we have for a couple of days."

* * *

The restaurant ended up being an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet where most of the signage was in Oriental script either to ensure the authenticity or because it got that many Asian customers that it was legitimately needed as Kamala made good on the 'all-you-could-eat' offer by loading her plate with a little bit of everything that wasn't pork or shellfish. Decked out in new threads that included a good pair of tennis shoes, jeans that were perhaps a touch too feminine with its rhinestones outlining the tops of her back pockets and drawing attention to her rear, a long-sleeve shirt with a lightweight jacket, a bra that was a little racier than she preferred, and a beanie for her head, Kamala didn't waste any time siting down and eating at an All-You-Can-Eat Chinese restaurant with a superpowered private investigator for a Saturday breakfast. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she had plowed through half of her _chow mein_ when Jessica Jones looked at her with some amusement. Kamala felt kind of bad that she had spent the raven-haired woman's money for clothes and food, but her life had taken a turn for the _Twilight Zone_.

It certainly wasn't like the comic books, cartoons, or movies, that was for certain.

"Feeling a little better?" Jessica asked tentatively as Kamala continued to eat as if she had been starving.

"I… don't know." The young woman frowned, thinking of her parents. _If things are… what I think they are, they would have wanted me to run,_ she decided, knowing what her _abbu _and _ammi_ would have thought. They had been living in America since before she was born, and had weathered the trying times post-9/11 without ever having been accused of being terrorists. Her _abbu_ was a senior loan manager at a widely-recognized bank! "I feel better knowing I'm not alone." Kamala admitted.

"I know exactly what you mean." The private investigator replied, looking… lost in thought. "When I was fourteen, me and my family were in a car accident that left me in a coma and… and my parents and younger brother dead." Kamala saw Jessica close her eyes at that memory. "I… caused that accident, arguing with Phillip. He… he was fucking ten years old when we were bickering in the back seat over something… stupid." The older woman wiped at an escaping tear, and Kamala reached over to touch Jessica's other hand. "My dad had just turned around to tell us to be quiet when we slammed into something big going… forty-five, I think. Ended up in a coma." Jessica opened her eyes and looked at Kamala. "When I woke up and learned what happened, I was… devastated. The Walkers had adopted me while I was still asleep for the dumbest of reasons, publicity, and Dorothy was hardly _a_ mother much less able to hold a candle to my own.

"But I had Trish. My sister." Kamala saw the investigator smile, a real one. "With her, I wasn't alone." It was Jessica's turn to hold Kamala's hand. "I'm not a lot of things. I'm not a hero, a good role model, a good citizen, or even really that good of an investigator when I use my powers to threatening bad people so they can get what they deserve. When the Battle of New York happened," there was a little pause there, "I was too damn afraid to leave my apartment. Not because of the aliens, but because of _him_." Kamala, sadly, knew who the raven-haired woman was referring to; Kevin Thompson, known as Kilgrave. "I… I wanted to, but I couldn't find the strength to walk out that door. I might have saved lives, I might have died in the first minute, but… but the one life I needed to save couldn't crawl out of that corner, too afraid to go out into the world where _he_ might still exist, the demons of my past worse than the aliens that were invading us. I'm a sorry excuse of a hero, having powers that I never knew how I had gotten, not much better than Kevin by using them for petty, selfish things. My sister actually made me a dorky costume once. It was a monstrosity."

"Spandex leotards?" Kamala asked, a little sheepishly as a small grin crawled over her face.

"Single strap white spandex leotard with green trim complete with purple wig. She wanted to call me 'Jewel' due to my toughness." That had the younger woman giggle. "But the point is that I've made a lot of bad mistakes and dumb mistakes. Believing in me… I'd discourage it." Her brown eyes never left Kamala's. "But today? Today I'm strong enough to walk out that door to save _two_ lives; yours and mine. I've tripped, I've stumbled, I've fell, now it's time for me to get back up and start walking again.

"And the best thing I can do is make sure you're not alone."

"I… thank you." The teenager replied, wiping at an escaping tear as she looked to Jessica. "Maybe we could all do with a little saving."

"Well, between your tech toys and my thuggery, I'm pretty sure we can solve most anything… to… gether…" Jessica's head slid over to one side as her eyes looked at something behind Kamala, her mouth slowly dropping open as the younger woman turned in her seat to see what the investigator was looking at. There was a television mounted high on one of the corners of the Chinese restaurant, on the local NBC affiliate, showing what looked to be a Special Report. Kamala felt her mouth go dry at the sight of a mansion that didn't just looked to be on fire, but _destroyed_, somewhere on the California Coast. But the icon of the mansion's owner and the listing of his presumed status had the young woman's heart shutter. "Hey! Turn that up!" Jessica shouted to one of the restaurants' employees, pointing out the small flat-screen television as the private investigator got out of her seat to stand up, moving only a few feet at a loss of what to do as Kamala stood next to her, clinging onto her as one of the waitresses turned up the volume on the television on the breaking news.

"… _what appears to be an attack by several attack helicopters involving military munitions upon 10880 Malibu Point, firing several rockets into the mansion until half of it broke off and fell into the cliffs below before crashing into the ocean."_ The female newscaster narrated, her image never seen. _"As of now, there had been no word on who was responsible for the attack, who was in the mansion, or if there were any survivors, but footage of the attacks show that billionaire Tony Stark, the world-renown Iron Man and member of the Avengers, was inside his home when it was attacked, and appears to have been buried with the house when it collapsed."_

"N-no…" Kamala felt the tears well up again as she clung onto Jessica harder, seeing the icon picture of Tony Stark's face next to the footage of the mansion that was split in half and devastated by the attack. But it was the caption that was scrolling on the blue banner marquee that had her grieving over the man she had begun to see as a mentor. Jessica held onto her, telling her something along the lines of _we need to leave_ as she guided the semi-aware teenager out of the restaurant and onto the busy streets of Upper West Side New York City, almost not cognizant of what was going on as she stumbled along, the marquee's words scrolling in her mind's eye.

**TONY STARK MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD.**

* * *

"Miss Walters!"

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., (CEO, Avengers) felt the speeding body of Kamala Khan collide with her as the young teenaged Pakistani-American woman gave her a grateful hug, the High Schooler sobbing a little as the lawyer held her as well, knowing that Kamala was no doubt under a lot of grief and stress concerning the day's events. The Boeing C-17 Globemaster III "_Gungnir_" had landed unannounced and undetected in LaGuardia International Airport just over forty-five minutes prior, Major Maria Jacoba Hill collecting a government-issued vehicle that all American Airports had on-hand for visiting authorities thanks to the plethora of badges with various identities and authorities she happened to have on her. Right now, a DEA Agent by the name of Carolyn Schuster had signed for a 2013 hybrid Lexus LS Sedan. Jenn and Maria had taken one to pick up Kamala Khan and Jessica Jones while Captain Steve Rogers, Lieutenant Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and Clinton Barton had taken the Quinjet that was attached to the top of the _Gungnir_ to go to Stark Tower unobserved thanks to its improvements by Tony Stark and Kamala Khan to load up on any equipment and data they would need and put the lab in full lockdown mode. The knowledge that HYDRA still existed and might have infiltrated SHIELD had taken all bets off the table, so everyone had agreed with the lawyer that mobility was key. Staying in the Tower was just a tempting target.

Especially after what had happened in Malibu just an hour prior.

"It's okay, Kamala." Jenn held the young woman, the Muslim girl practically burying her face into her bosom as she hugged the lawyer fiercely. It broke her heart knowing that Kamala had no idea if her parents were even still alive, possibly an orphan, fleeing for her life, desperate and lost; a parents' worst nightmare. That would not be happening to Kamala, Jenn would make sure of it no matter what. "We're here, sweetheart. We're going to do everything we can to get to the bottom of this for you." It sadly wouldn't be immediate, but she meant every word.

"Did… did you hear about Mister Stark?" Kamala looked up, unburying her face to look at Jenn. "They… they _killed_ him!"

"I'll believe it when I see a body. Tony's been thought dead before. A couple of times, in fact." The man had a notorious streak of pulling off desperate miracles at the lowest of odds. He had survived a cave in Afghanistan, his business partner, a lunatic ex-con, a rival company's rather hostile takeover, the Chitauri, and technically even a nuclear weapon. "We got in contact with Miss Potts, and she didn't sound as devastated as she should have been. I'm pretty certain Tony's playing dead to play for time and figure out who tried to kill him and Happy Hogan while they make the mistake of thinking that Tony was killed."

"Mister Happy was hurt too?" Jenn grimaced at Kamala's words. A lot had happened since she had gotten a call from an NSA hacker. Two of her employees were hurt, their youngest member on the run, and everyone was scattered to the four winds due to the holidays and now attacks. She had already sent small messages for everyone to bunker down until they got a better idea of what was going on and who might be after them. But with the attack on Tony's mansion as well as reports of Doctor Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis being involved in some strange altercation in London and Doctor Foster's whereabouts unknown, the lawyer was feeling decisively paranoid.

If Edward Snowden was correct, then HYDRA was about to launch some sort of devastating strike either upon America or the world. And Earth's defenders were getting their asses handed to them.

"There's a lot going on that we're discovering, Kamala. Tony, your parents, Doctor Foster… my daughter Jessica." The younger woman looked at her with widening eyes. Jenn wasn't ready to delve into that yet; she was barely hanging on as it was. "For now, we're going to have you come with us. Things are in turmoil, and I don't know of any place that I can guarantee as safety except with us, and even then it might not be as safe as I wish it to be." Putting a minor in danger was complete anathema to her, and the fact that someone else would actively try to harm a child had her rankled to the point of rage. She remembered well when her cousin Bruce Banner moved in with the Walters family after his father killed his mother in a jealous rage, the story coming out over the years how David Banner had beaten and abused his only child. Nothing pissed her off more than harming a child, but Jenn couldn't see just dropping Kamala off anywhere with the thought that it would be safe. If this were HYDRA, and they were actively trying to hunt down members of the Avengers, having the young Pakistani-American woman in a separate location meant she would be unguarded. Having the young woman on _Gungnir_ might put Kamala in the line of fire, but there was no other guarantee that anyone would be able to protect her at any other location.

Absolutely no one on the Boeing C-17 Globetrotter III had any issues with it when they had learned why they were heading to LaGuardia.

"Go ahead and get into the car with Major Hill, sweetheart." Jennifer told the young woman, who nodded as she went towards Maria Hill, who was keeping an eye around at the parking structure that they had designated to keep surveillance down to a minimal both from the sky, CCTVs, traffic cameras, and building entrances, the parking structure bing one that SHIELD knew to be a 'dark' zone; without electronic surveillance. The lawyer looked over to see Jessica Jones standing a few feet away, wearing normal clothes under a black leather jacket and a scarf loosely wound around her neck. "Miss Jones? Thank you so much for coming to Kamala's aid. We were flying over the West Coast when I got the call, and…" Jennifer remembered her heart leaping to her throat at the thought of the fifteen-year old in danger. Coupled with the thought of what might have become of her daughter, Jessica Miriam Drew? It had been a savage hit to her heart.

"I saw the news about Mister Stark." The investigator said softly, her eyes going to where Kamala went before returning to the Esquire. "Is this it? Is this… one of those times?" The younger woman didn't need to explain herself further; she knew what the Avengers were for.

"Yes. Yes it is." Jennifer replied, unable to keep her tone neutral. The past ten hours had been trying, and the speed in which the events were happening was taking its toll. She had spent the past six months building the Avengers up for something just like this, and now that it was happening, it seemed like her plan was unraveling. _No, that's not true,_ the lawyer reminded herself. _We weren't slapped together at the last minute, relying on whatever we could scrounge up, throwing people together who didn't even know one another._ They had a team, they had equipment, they had transportation, they had expertise. Yes, things were falling apart… on the outside. But the Avengers themselves?

No, they were ready. All they needed was a target, a plan, and a finish line.

"How bad?" The investigator seemed to be mulling something over, and Walters had a pretty good idea what that was.

"Supposedly, we've got five days to stop an old school Nazi scientific research and weapons development program that survived World War Two from taking over America. Possibly the world." That's what the _Valkyrie_ had been for, to bomb every major city in the world and reduce the governments to weak, pitiful things to overthrow the globe. Jenn wasn't sure what the actual plan was now, but she was pretty certain it would be close to that if it was named after the Red Skull, the man who had enacted the plan that had nearly cost Captain America his life saving the world. "Dye-in-the-wool superhero bullshit straight out of a comic book."

"Holy shit." Jessica breathed out, hugging herself as she looked off to one side, still mulling. Jennifer knew why; the young woman who didn't believe herself a hero was now standing at that threshold where more than just herself and her loved ones mattered. Walters never asked where Jessica Jones might have been during the Battle of New York, the investigator living approximately a mile or so north in northern Manhattan. Perhaps she had been there but not recognized, but perhaps not. Considering that Jenn knew that the Battle was only a few weeks after the younger woman had escaped the nine-month hell of being a mind slave to Kilgrave, she was pretty certain that Jones was likely too afraid to walk out that door, more terrified of demons than aliens. Now that time had come again, and the woman whose life had been dominated by a mind-controlling sadist, whose confidence in herself had been shattered, was standing at that precipice between going and fleeing.

"Jessica," Jennifer took a tentative step forward, putting a gentle hand on the younger woman's shoulder, looking her in the eye, "I know what you're thinking. It's written all over your face." The investigator gave a wane smile at that, her brown eyes pained. "You are conflicted because you know what you _want_ to do, but you are afraid of the choices that you might make, thinking of past decision and past regrets." Those brown eyes closed as Jones' head lowered, Jennifer having hit upon her dilemma. "Your confidence has been shaken, and all you can think of are the times that you felt like a failure, where the repercussions and consequences were worse than what the actions were. Let me tell you what your future will likely be." Jennifer's hand gently went to Jessica's chin to lift her eye up so the woman could look at her so that she would know that Jenn was telling her the truth.

"If you walk away from this," Jennifer Walters began, "I will not fault you or belittle you. I won't need to. You will find out what will happen on the news, you will hear of our actions, and you will always wonder what difference you might have made whether we succeed or not. You will make your own hell filled with booze and regret, and you will make yourself suffer for it without understanding why. I cannot say what the next five days might hold, what it might mean for us, or what HYDRA might do in order to succeed. But whatever happens, you will watch from the sidelines always wondering if you could have changed things, knowing that you could have been a part of it. You will learn later on that while we fought to save many lives…

"…you missed out on the opportunity to save just _one_, the one that mattered most."

Jessica's brown eyes looked to her, moist with almost tears, internal conflict written all over those tortured orbs as that war of indecision raged on. Jennifer touched her forehead to Jessica's own, knowing that this battle wasn't hers as she let go of Jessica's chin, the taller woman walking away from the investigator as she indicated to Major Hill to start up the car, the Lexus sedan merely turning on due to it being a hybrid. Jennifer Walters walked over to the front passenger seat, already seeing that Kamala was in the back, buckled up and ready to go. Opening the passenger door for herself, Jennifer looked to Jessica Jones, who still stood in the same spot, looking at pleading eyes, desperate to be _told_ what to do. But no, that first step needed to be of the other woman's own volition, not of Jenn's input.

"You have until we leave the parking structure, Miss Jones." Jennifer replied with a smile as she got into the Lexus, closing the door behind her.

"Is… Jessica not coming?" Kamala asked from the back seat, her voice small as the young woman leaned forward to look at Jennifer from where she sat behind Maria Hill, the lawyer turning to look at the teenager.

"That will be on her, I'm afraid." Jennifer replied, hating the fact that she needed to do so, but knowing it needed to be done. Jessica Jones had been living a life of mediocrity done by her own hand, refusing to be more than some forgettable has-been or never-was when she absolutely was capable of so much more. She was smart, she was gifted, and she was too damn afraid of her own shadow. While the whole Kilgrave thing only made that worse, what it truly taught Jessica was to fear making her own decisions, throwing that responsibility onto someone else. Jessica hadn't decided to join the mission that would end with Kevin Thompson's death; her sister Patricia Walker had decided that for her. Anytime Jessica hit an obstacle where the responsibility of deciding something outside the status quo came into light, no doubt the younger woman would talk it out with someone and go with what _they_ said, fearing making a decision, fearing making a mistake.

Jessica Jones' life was out of control because _she_ had no control over it.

The Lexus drove through the parking structure slowly, heading down seven levels through the tight turns of the long thoroughways lined with parked vehicles in cramped spaces as they descended towards street level. Not a word was said amongst the three women as the sedan went down the turnbuckle turns for each level, having to drive the length of the older structure to reach the bottom instead of a corkscrew that one saw in more modern parking structures to delineate traffic and congestion. Despite the slow speed they were going, the tires squealed over every turn of the turnbuckles of the parking structure due to the asphalt, making it sound as if the Lexus was in a chase scene in a movie. They made their slow way down, Maria looking impassively forward as she drove, Jenn's heart lurching a little as they reached the ground floor and were looking to the illuminated exit of the parking structure, the space bright from the daytime sun, darkening everything else as the lawyer didn't see the sight of a woman standing there. Jennifer closed her eyes as they began going through the exit.

Something fell from the sky.

The thud of feet hitting concrete at high velocity had her eyes snap open as Jennifer Walters saw that in front of the entrance to the parking structure stood woman in a black leather jacket and blue jeans, with black feminine boots and a scarf wound loosely around her neck. There was anger in that face and in those eyes that stood in front of the Lexus, the woman standing there having fallen seven stories downward to land on her booted feet without harm. There stood Jessica Campbell Jones, the anger fading from her face and from her eyes as she finally moved forward, going to the rear passenger side door to open it and let herself in. Jessica was in a huff, obviously angered by being forced to make her own choice as Jennifer lowered the passenger side visor to look into the vanity mirror, adjusting it so she could see the woman sitting behind her… and said woman looking right back. Jenn smiled as she lifted her left hand and held it in a recognizable manner to Major Maria Hill, who grumbled as she reached into her suit jacket and pulled out a leather bifold wallet, pulling out from its interior a twenty dollar bill. The lawyer rescued the money as she reached inside her own clutch purse and pulled out a Sharpie marker.

"You… made a _bet_ on me!" Jessica asked, her tone incensed as Jennifer laid the bill on the dash and wrote six words on it before signing the bottom of the bill. Capping the Sharpie, the Esquire folded the bill in half and held it up and above her shoulder, indicating for Jessica to take it. She could see the private investigator look at the bill incredulously for a moment before snatching it from her hand, opening it up to see what Jennifer had written. Jenn watched as the anger died away as Jessica looked up to look at her through the vanity mirror once more as Maria exited the parking structure. The brown eyes of Jessica Campbell Jones were conflicted once more, but there was something there, something the words that Jennifer had written having an effect. The lawyer smiled as she watched the younger woman silently pocket the bill as Kamala scooted over closer to give the investigator a hug, knowing what she had written down.

_I placed my __faith__ in you. - Jenn Walters_

* * *

**Coney Island Boardwalk, Coney Island Beach, Brooklyn, New York City, New York, July 4, 2012**

_5 months prior, Fourth of July and Captain America's birthday_

_Captain Steven Grant Rogers (CPT, US Army, Ret.) had found himself _very_ shyly being asked out on a date to go visit Coney Island for the Fourth of July by Jessica Miriam Drew._

_Ever since their return from Washington DC two weeks prior, Steve had found himself encountering the young woman more and more at Stark Tower, visiting the various members of the Avengers in a good-natured fashion, helping out where she could, and working out every day to prepare herself for her upcoming training at the CIA Training Facility at Camp Leary. When not occupying herself with minding her two younger sisters or even playing _ad hoc_ secretary for her mother Jennifer Walters by getting coffee or having lunch with her, Jessica became the unofficial Avengers' photographer, taking professional-styled photographs of the various members for press or their own personal amusement. The Captain had to admit that Jessica had a great eye, and had been stunned by one of her photos of Tony Stark standing at a bay window, facing New York City while Jessica took a picture of him from behind. The man had been mostly a silhouette, but just enough of a band of light and the right angle had Tony recognized as he stared out to the city in a designer business suit with his hands held behind him. Jessica had dubbed the picture "The American Prince" and it was a great photograph that was actually being contemplated for use by TIME Magazine. There had been one of him sitting on a couch, doodling and sketching in a notebook, completely at ease. That one Jessica had framed and given to him with a small caption on the frame reading 'The Man Within'. It had been a touching gift._

_Their interest in art started their conversations, slowly evolving into more deeper topics as they spent more time with each other over those summer days. Steve started talking tentatively about his life before the War, when it was just him and Bucky. Jessica talked of a mother she despised, Alisa Drew being a woman who had abandoned her family for a career in stag reels (though they called it pornography now). Steve quickly realized why Jessica held Jennifer Walters in such high esteem, the woman who _chose_ to be a mother figure to three girls when their lives were at their bleakest, continuing to do so when the bad times had past. Such stories eventually had Steve finally opening up about Peggy Carter; his regrets, how he was still reeling in some ways from the fact that he was in 'the future', sometimes waking up at night to expect to find himself in Germany, everything having been a bad vivid dream. Jessica had approached him slowly before she wrapped her arms around him and comforted him, giving him respite and a chance to grieve what he had lost. Steve didn't really get that chance to mourn what he had lost, displaced from all he had ever known, and in her arms, he found a moments' peace, respite for his soul. It was then, on that couch in the main area of Stark Tower, just the two of them, that Jessica had pulled him in for a light kiss, Steve feeling captivated by the feel of her soft lips upon his own. Even though the kiss had been a short one, the memory of it had made a lasting impression as he found himself looking at green eyes and a shy yet satisfied smile._

_The next day, Jessica was asking _him_ out on a date. _Welcome to the Twenty-First Century,_ Steve thought to himself as he agreed to the nineteen-year old woman's request._

_Coney Island had changed a great deal since the Forties, no longer filled with bathhouses, beach houses, bungalows, and nickelodeons. The press of people was significantly less too as both Jessica and he were able to walk onto the beach without being jostled every which way as Jessica shyly slipped her hand into his own, almost glowing. They had gone in the early evening to enjoy the fireworks as well as the lighted amusement park as Steve saw something and practically insisted that they go to; Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs. That ended up being a great time as the both them ordered both the classic Nathan Hot Dog as well as the original fried frog leg, the nineteen-year old taking a tiny tentative bite of the unique dish, surprised when she discovered that it was actually good. They had partaken on some of the arcade games, Steve getting a perfect four thousand on skeeball while Jessica tried her luck throwing darts at balloons, getting three out of three and winning herself a classic carnival doll. They went on the iconic Wonder Wheel that was built the same year Steve was born, and when they were high in the wheel's travels, they found themselves making out rather heavily, much to the amusement of the ride operator when they reached ground level. _

_Evening had come and Steve found himself laying on a purchased beach towel with Jessica laying beside him, her head resting in the crook of his arm as they watched the fireworks go off to celebrate Independence Day. He found himself looking at the woman at his side, technically only about six or seven years his junior despite him having been born in 1920 and being ninety-two years old on the calender. Jessica had given him two birthday presents, one that she said he would like, and the other that she said might hurt a little but he would appreciate all the same. The first gift (which he loved, actually) was a leather bomber jacket that World War Two pilots had worn, obvious a modern version but made with a real wool liner that extended to the collar. Riding his motorcycle was something he enjoyed doing, and the gift had obviously been intended for that._

_The second gift had been a shadow box for James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes._

_That… had stunned him, holding the thick-framed box that had his Department of the Army photo with Bucky in uniform, his service cap set upon his head in a cocky angle, a small smile upon his face. On the other side had been his awards and medals he earned in the service of his nation… the top-most one being the Medal of Honor. Steve had held that lacquered box with its glass front for a long time, remembering his best friend. He… the present had hurt, but it had soothed him all the same. Jessica had been right about that, and Rogers knew that if he had come back from the War, he would have something just like this on his mantle to remember his friend by. Jessica had done it for him to help him heal. _

_It was then he realized that while everyone else was interested in him for being Captain America, Jessica Drew was more interested in the man inside instead._

"_Hey," Steve got her attention as Jessica looked away from the exploding fireworks, seeing her face illuminated in reds and blues, "this was a great night."_

"_I was hoping it would be." The young woman replied with a smile as she moved closer to give him a soft kiss, her green eyes opening slowly afterwards to look at his. "I was hoping you would feel like you were coming home, to give you a little familiarity and enjoyment. I just…" He knew what she meant. Like the others of the Avengers, they tried what they could to see to Steve's transition from his time before he had been buried under ice and slept the decades away. He was lucky that there were people who did try. "I at least wanted to make your birthday special."_

"_You did, Jessica." Steve replied, getting the young woman to smile at him, and the sight of that bright smile tugged at him as he brought her closer, turning that smile into kisses as he felt her slowly climbing on top of him; first an arm slipping over his chest, then a leg sliding over his before she she shifted her weight and was laying on top of him, his arms around her waist as her hands slid through his hair, pulling him in as their tongues fenced for dominance at the borders of their lips. Rogers felt lost in a tangled sea of long brunette hair, green eyes, soft lips, and gentle hands. "I… need a minute." Steve pulled away from the wave of enjoyment to look at Jessica's green eyes, seeing her nod in understanding. He had talked to her about Peggy, how… how he regretted what he had left behind. She had been understanding, listening to him unburdening that pain he felt whenever he looked at something that he didn't understand or didn't know and was reminded that he was a man out of his time. _

"_Take your time, Steve. I'm here for you, and I'm not planning on going anywhere." The young woman replied, resting her arms on his chest and then putting her chin on top of her arms as she looked at him. "I know what troubles you, but I want you to know that I accept it. I know you still love her, and I respect that."_

_Steve felt his mouth go dry at that, but Jessica had certainly named what was bothering him. He did still love Peggy, the woman that had believed in _Steven Grant Rogers_ before he had entered into _Project: Rebirth_. She had seen the man, not the Super Soldier. It had really only been a couple of months in his mind since stopping the _Valkyrie_, and his heart was still reeling from it all. _

_From the friends and family that were gone, to the changing of the world, to discovering that he had somehow become some legendary hero, to the fact that Peggy was still alive… any one of those things were a burden to accept, but he had _all_ of them at once. Jessica… Jessica had been helping him with that, helping him ease into a world he didn't recognize or understand, to find things that were familiar or things that interested him, to talk about the things that he missed and the things he was discovering. They would watch movies late at night when her sisters were playing video games (some sort of electronic board games on television that blew his mind when he saw them), watching classic movies, cultural hits, blockbusters, and comedies. He would pick one, and then she would pick one, and they would watch a double-matinee together in the comforts of Jessica's room at the Tower, Steve finding himself comfortable sitting next to her, and then becoming comfortable with her snuggling him as they watched romcoms (romantic comedies were becoming a favorite of his) and gangster movies (he had lived in the Thirties, after all). With her, Steve felt… normal, like being himself was perfectly fine._

_It was exactly what he needed._

"_I think I should take a small trip to DC." Steve said slowly, his eyes finding Jessica's as she looked at him. "I've… been afraid to, afraid of what I might find. Afraid of what I might hear." He didn't need to say where he needed to go, or specifically _whom_ he needed to see. He could see in the young woman's eyes that she already knew. "I think… that's what I've been needing to do all this time, to reach the point where I need to accept where and when I am. I just…"_

"_You needed the reason that would motivate you to face what you're afraid of." Jessica answered, hitting upon what he couldn't say. She slid her arms around him as she laid her head upon his chest. "You need that one person who knew you before to help you become the man you want to be now. Someone who understands both worlds._

"_I think you need to fulfill that promise and take her to that dance."_

"_Yeah, I think so." Steve found himself holding Jessica, brushing her silky hair back with his hand, marveling how it felt. Peggy… Peggy had moved on, had married, had children. But unlike everyone else, she had known the man. If anyone knew what he needed, it would be Margaret Elizabeth 'Peggy' Carter. He… he needed her understanding, to tell her how he was feeling… how _he_ felt. Until he saw her, he wasn't sure if he could move on. He needed her blessing, her permission to move on like she had. He only had a little bit of time to come to grips with his new life, and he needed the closure._

_Especially since he found himself falling in love once more. _

* * *

**Boeing C-17 Globemaster III "**_**Gungnir**_**", LaGuardia International Airport, New York City, New York, December 10, 2012**

Captain Steven Grant Rogers (US Army, ret.) stood in the cargo bay of the Boeing C-17 Globetrotter III known as _Gungnir_ as it occupied an unused portion of LaGuardia International Airport, sitting at the very end of the tarmac where commercial airplanes took off and landed, in between two two of the long runways where a small patch of concrete existed for traveling service vehicles. Thanks to the addition of the _Miss Marvel Project_ and PROJECT: MATILDA, no one at LaGuardia knew that there was a military aircraft sitting at the end of the runway, invisible to the eye. Tony Stark had created the aircraft with the Avengers in mind, making a stealth aircraft that wouldn't show up on radar thanks to its radar-scattering panels, wasn't visible o the eye, and wouldn't be detected by something called NORAD due to heat signature, the repulsor jets that the C-17 used operating at a lower temperature than what was normally detected on thermal radar. As far as anyone on the plane was aware, they truly had a stealth aircraft that could fly and land undetected in all but the most-heavily populated areas.

He and his team had come back from Stark Towers, pillaging all that they thought they would need in the coming days and loading it into the QuinJet, which had been retrofitted with the _Miss Marvel Project_ as well. Everything from weapons, supplies, gear, equipment, data, computers, storage devices, food, water, even cots had been loaded into the small utilitarian personnel jet before taking off from the small helipad that Clint Barton had landed upon for the team to access the Tower with everyone none-the-wiser. It had taken them approximately forty-five minutes to load everything up and head back to the airport, waiting for Jennifer and Maria to return with _two_ people. Steve remembered Jessica Jones, the troubled young woman fighting a dark past and a darker demon. Giving her a chance to stand up and prove her worth was a good call in Rogers mind, seeing a good woman who had been knocked down one too many times. If there was anyone who knew about struggling to get back on ones' feet after a rather vicious hit, it was him.

"You're thinking about her."

Steve didn't need to look over to see who had spoken to him as he kept an eye out for anyone potentially running into an invisible plane as Natasha Alianovna Romanoff stood beside him, her arms folded across her chest.

"That obvious?" Steve asked quietly, looking over to see that the redhead was being sympathetic, her green eyes concerned as she looked at him for a long moment.

"I would be a wreck. I know I was when I learned Clint was compromised." While Rogers didn't know the full story about Nat (as he understood it, only Clint and Colonel Fury had that honor and no one else), he knew that something happened in the past that had Nat 'switch sides' more or less because of Clint Barton. It wasn't love, at least not the physical kind. No, there was likely an incident in which Nat felt she owed the archer a debt that was greater than a life was worth. He never asked; he respected it, and she would tell him if she ever thought he earned the right to know. He suspected it was probably something along the lines of what he and Bucky once shared, someone who believed in him despite everything to the contrary. Steve had been a short, underweight asthmatic kid who somehow ended up with a friend unlike any other who never let him down in James Buchanan Barnes. The circumstances were likely different, but he imagined that at one point in time, Clint saw something in Nat, something that no one else had ever seen in her, and it had touched her at such a profound personal level that the redhead had completely changed her life for the man who had given her that one things she truly needed. All Steve had to think of was the news of the capture of the 107th Infantry Regiment and how his rash decision to find his best friend had changed his life forever. He could relate. "How are _you_ holding up?" Nat asked, looking at him with all too-knowing eyes.

"About as well as Jenn is, though I doubt anyone save you knows." Rogers admitted, doing his best to keep his focus on what he _could_ do, and not what he couldn't. "It's not a fun thing to have the roles reversed; it's generally the man who goes off to brave danger while the woman is the one back at home waiting. Makes me appreciate what women do a lot more than before and I like to think I was pretty generous with my appreciation. Jenn… I had no idea she would be able to hold it together so well. That kind of news can be… it can break one's spirit. I've seen it before."

"As have I." The Black Widow admitted softly, looking out the lowered ramp of _Gungnir_ and out to the runways of LaGuardia. "I like her, you know. She surprised me at first, with her level of maturity and her thoughtfulness. She shows a good deal more propriety than most of her age group or generation does. I… I admit that I was looking forward to possibly seeing her in our ranks. I think she would be good for it." Neither one of them wanted to talk about the elephant that was in the room, standing right there. "Did Jenn know that you two went out on a few dates?"

"Not exactly." Steve admitted painfully. "Jessica… didn't want anyone else pressuring me or making it harder on me. She just wanted for me to go out and be comfortable, to help me ease into things without having a dozen people pulling me which way."

"Didn't hurt to have a young pretty woman at your side doing so?" There was some teasing in Nat's voice, making the Captain smile a little.

"I… talked to Peggy. About her." That had Romanoff do a double-take. "That was a hard thing to do, but Peggy was understanding. She asked about Jessica, and… she knew. Peggy knew what needed to be said, what I needed to hear." Steve had done what Jessica Drew had suggested, playing a slow Big Band song and dancing with the ninety-year old Peggy Carter, fulfilling a promise that had he never had a chance to make good until then. All the pain and grief that he had bottled in had finally come out as Peggy held him; the horrors of war, the loss of Bucky, giving his life to stop a world-threatening disaster, waking up nearly seven decades later to a world he barely recognized, and the struggles trying to fit in when so much had changed. "She told me she was happy for me, gave me her blessing." That moment had been a profound one for him, one that had helped him truly come to terms with his new-found life and the woman that was making such an impact on it. It was still a struggle and a work-in-progress, but no longer did he feel so divided between two very different worlds.

"We're going to get her back, Steve." Natasha said, having him look at her, the Black Widow's face serious. "We know how, and you won't be the only one interested in seeing Jessica free. Between you, me, Clint, Jenn, and Doreen, I'm pretty sure that the odds are in our favor that we can make it happen." Steve nodded, knowing that Nat was doing what she could for him during such times. He appreciated it. "Oh, looks like the ladies are back." Romanoff commented as they saw a black Lexus LS driving out on he end of the tarmac, no doubt spooking somebody with its presence. Well, it wasn't like they were staying at LaGuardia. The Sedan pulled up to the lowered ramp of the C-17, and Steve saw _four_ doors opening, four women exiting the black vehicle and onto the tarmac. Steve saw the women walking towards the ramp as he spied little Kamala Khan practically running up, giving Natasha a hug as the redhead returned the hug, whispering to her. The young woman was going through a great deal, not knowing if her parents were alive or not, but thankfully she wasn't alone. But it was the sight of the fourth woman that had Rogers approaching.

"Miss Jones, I'm glad you could join us." Steve extended his hand to shake, in which Jessica Jones took, looking a little embarrassed. Like many Americans, she had probably grown up hearing stories and tales of Captain America, further exasperated by the Battle of New York. He knew that in her eyes, he was likely the epitome of a hero. And he was now shaking her hand. "Thank you for looking out for Kamala for us. We were too far away at the time when she needed us."

"I'm glad you reached out. She's not the only one who needs a little rescuing." Jenn had texted something about that, giving the private investigator a choice. The raven-haired woman had suffered more than a few tumbles herself in her past, and the lawyer was doing her best to empower the woman to find her own inner-strength to stand on her own two feet again. And she had elected to do so of her own free will. "But I'll be damned if I stand by and watch another catastrophe happen outside my window, too afraid of making mistakes. I'll make them, but for the right reasons." That had Steve smile.

"Welcome to the Avengers, Jessica Jones."

* * *

Author's Notes: Aww, I just let my first ship sail! Most times I introduce something leading to bigger events (I play the long game) but the Steve Rogers/Jessica Drew route was probably a bit too subtle as when I came up with the idea in _Some Assembly Required_, all I show is a few conversations that were mostly benign but at least Steve and Jessica getting conversations and time together. AFAIA, they never even dated in the comics.

_Hijab_ \- Arabic for 'cover' or 'covering', this is most widely recognized as the headshawl that one sees on many Muslim women. In the _Quran_, it is actually proper that _all_ cover their heads outdoors (both men and women) as respect for Allah (that is what I understand it to mean).

While not an expert on _halal_ dietary requirements, most are aware that pork (swine for Muslims and Jewish people) is a no-no. There is a lot more to it than that, such as how the meat is prepared, no carrion, but also other foods that are not allowed (such as shellfish and crustaceans, so I'm… 50% certain this means shrimp, crab, and lobster).

The costume reference for Jessica Jones is not only the costume that she wears in the Earth-616 Universe, but also the one that Trish Walker made for her in… whatever episode it was from the first season. In the comic books, Jessica Jone's has purplish hair, which I reference with the use of a purple wig.

10880 Malibu Point is the address given by Tony Stark during his blurb after Happy's attack in Iron Man 3. Point Dume is an actual location, though the particular cliff is not allowed for development. One can see it cinematically on the original _Planet of the Apes_ when Charlton Heston finds the buried Statue of Liberty; this is Westward Beach just below it.

Realistically, Iron Man 3 happened in the same year as The Avengers, occurring on December of 2012, while Captain America: Winter Soldier happens almost two years later in 2014 (and the same year as Avengers: Age of Ultron). It was never explained why none of the Avengers were there for the three movies in between the Avengers movies (the third being Thor: The Dark World). In essence, all three movies will be happening in around the same times (which might explain why the _actual_ US Government seemed so barely involved in CA:WS with all those fake cops considering what happens to the President in IM3).

Actually, I had never intended to have Jessica Jones join the Avengers up until I started writing the section beginning with Jenn Walters picking up Kamala and Jessica; a last-minute addition. Yet I like the thought, and I think many of you will too.

Sadly, there wasn't a great deal of information I could get on what Coney Island was like in the Forties save _jumbled mess_. There were a few things written and photographs, but many of the rides were simple ones, along with (heh) _arcade_ games that probably look more like a modern day carnival or a state fair. Yet Coney Island was the largest amusement park for quite some time and _extremely_ popular during the turn of the century and up into the Fifties. The comment I made about the beach being packed was completely true.

Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs has operated since 1920, still in its original location. It does serve fried frog legs (I don't know if they're actually frog legs or not). The Wonder Wheel, the Carousel, and the Cyclone are also remaining rides from well over five decades ago, though fire and closure had taken down many, such as Astropark and the Whizzer.

At just over 10,000 words, this is my longest chapter in _Jennifer Walters, Avenger-in-Law_!


	24. Of Traitors And Assassins, IV

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**Boeing C-17 Globemaster III "**_**Gungnir**_**", Pennsylvania Airspace, En-route From New York To Maryland, December 10, 2012**

_-5 Days before __**Rot Schrader**__ deadline_

Edward Joseph Snowden and his new partner Kamala Aisha Khan were working together to piece together any kind of data they could on the organization known as HYDRA.

"Who the heck names their development 'Hope Yards Development and Restoration Association? Why not slap stickers on it and say 'evil lair here'?" Kamala sat beside Edward in the loft as she worked on one of several available laptops that had been re-appropriated from Stark Tower to _Gungnir_, the Avengers' young tech guru having installed a private server on the aircrafts' second level that came complete with (of all things) an Artificial Intelligence Natural Language Program that the Pakistani-American woman had written herself named the Oracle Binary Intelligent Wikia Analytical Network… or OBIWAN, after the legendary Jedi Knight from _Star Wars_. It even came with Sir Alec Guinness' voice.

"People with more power than sense like to make silly memes thinking themselves clever." The twenty-eight year old man replied as he typed on the Haptic Interface Keyboard with the aid of gesture recognition software, easily doubling his input speed. Touch screens were now a thing of the past as he was able to move documents and images _holographically_ thanks to several holographic projections and an inclusion of a pair of glasses that Kamala called the Augmented Reality Overlay Device. To everyone else, he was typing in mid-air. To him, he sat in a lush candyland of information and data, with several screens floating in the air for comparison and availability. He had pretty much shit himself at the discovery on how he was able to do so much more, moving whole fields of data at a time instead of scrolling, being helped by OBIWAN as possibly the greatest search engine ever to exist. Not only could he pull up keywords to reference material, but the Natural Language Program would also sift for relevance, too, bringing up hits that were more likely based on content, not just word usage. Instead of getting millions of hits with the top ones based on target count (as how much search engines works based on hits, popularity, or target usage), he would get a dozen based on script and tangibility.

In short, it was fucking awesome.

"So what are we looking for? Besides incriminating evidence." The fifteen-year old asked, looking through screens of files as she swiped and moved through several screens, her dark eyes scanning through highlighted words to skim through content. "Somehow I doubt there's a manual in here called the '_Idiot's Guide To Global Domination, signed HYDRA_'. It would be nice, but I doubt it."

"The more classified, the better." Snowden replied, realizing that the information that Kamala was looking at was at a higher security clearance level than Top Secret, mostly pertaining to projects and programs that involved various components of the government, mostly the military. It was as Kamala said; it wouldn't be something so obvious as an e-mail with a whole mess of evidence they could use. No, it would be in piecemeal, innuendos hidden in the data and masquerading under paragraphs of normality. This was his day job back in the National Security Agency, and he knew how to pick up patterns. After learning that Kamala Khan was just as much a computer geek as he was, he had enlisted her aid after she showed him what OBIWAN could do. Evidently, the Avengers had found a fifteen year old version of a tech genius from a science competition where she had blown away her competitors through an invention that they called the Life Model Decoy. Hell, the girl came with a superhero name; _Miss Marvel_. Everyone called her that, including the private investigator that had showed up in New York known as Jessica Jones.

"I… huh. This is odd." Kamala took a screen (one of many) and expanded the entirety of the holographic representation. "It's a list with a bunch of names on it under the heading PROJECT: INSIGHT. Doesn't say what agency its for or what sub-committee authorized it."

"Throw that in the save bin." Snowden said, looking at the document in question that had… a _lot_ of names on it. The first one was _Walters, Jennifer Susan_. The second one was _Obama, Barack Hussein, Jr_. The third name was _Clinton, Hillary Diane Rodham_. There were easily dozens and dozens of names, well over a hundred, but nothing more about what they meant than it was under a file folder called PROJECT: INSIGHT. Edward saw _Rogers, Steven Grant_ and _Barton, Clinton Francis_ on the list, as well as _Stark, Anthony Edward_, with mixes of other names he vaguely knew of. "A lot of these are government names." Snowden told his younger counterpart as she looked at the list.

"I think that one's the Vice-Secretary of Defense. I know the name Ross. It isn't a well-liked one here." Kamala pointed out a name that said _Ross, Thaddeus Tiberius_. "Here's my name." The hacker frowned at the sight of _Khan, Kamala Aisha_, literally right above _Romanoff, Natasha Alianovna_ and someone named _Van Dyne, Hope Madeline._ "Lots of government names _and_ Avenger names. I think… yes, this guy's the District Attorney for New York State. I remember it from the _Thor vs. Norway_ case. And this lady I think is a Senator and on the Defense Sub-Committee. There's Senator John McCain, and… isn't this the Joint Chief of Staff of the Pentagon?" The fifteen-year old woman was pointing out a name but looking at Edward, her tone very worried. "This isn't a news editorial or a subscription, so what's with this list? I don't see some names. The Vice-President and the Secretary of Defense aren't on it. Was it not complete?"

"It's…" Edward scanned through the names, seeing what Kamala had seen; _missing_ names. Everyone that he knew to be an Avenger was on the document, such as _Potts, Virgina Gwenneth 'Pepper'_, _Rhodes, James Rupert 'Rhodey', _and he even saw _Odinson, Thor_ on there. There were names he didn't recognize. "OBIWAN? Can you get me a cross reference off these names with Avengers and members of the Executive, Legislative, and Judicial Branch for the Federal Government." The young woman had pointed out a District Attorney for New York State, hadn't she? "As well as the State Governments for the Eastern Seaboard."

A holographic screen appeared as an overlay over the list, describing titles and positions next to the names as Edward Snowden began to see the pattern.

"W-what are we looking at?" Kamala asked, her one a little frightened at the sight of so many titled positions in the American Government ranging from State-Level Senators, Federal Senators, members of the Judiciary System, Generals and Officers in the Pentagon, people that worked for the White House… and what looked to be members of the Avengers he hadn't even been aware of. Hell, Jennifer was on top of the list over _the President of the United States_ for some reason.

Wait, what was it that Doreen had said earlier? Something about escalating the timeline because of something Jennifer Walters had done?

"Oh. Oh shit." He knew what this was. At first, Edward thought it was a surveillance list; a log of whom the NSA wanted a more detailed account for. And yes, it was probably that, too. But the missing names of certain people had him skeptical, especially since the House Majority Leader and the Senate Pro Tempe, two powerful positions in Congress, weren't on that list. Any why would someone want _further_ spying on the President? He was likely the most spied-upon person on the planet!

No, it wasn't a surveillance request for individuals.

"It's a _coup d'force_." Edward replied, making his companion's head snap to look at him as he turned to look at Kamala, feeling his soul shrivel a little at the implication. "That timeline?

"It's a hit list."

* * *

Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., (CEO, Avengers), found herself standing in the loft with the rest of the Avengers minus 1st Lieutenant Samuel Thomas Wilson, who was currently flying _Gungnir_ towards Baltimore, flying higher than commercial airliners and aware that they were about to enter some of the most watched and defended airspace in America and likely the world; Washington, DC. The loft was pretty crowded with ten people in its confines, the walls covered with computer equipment meant to monitor communications, radar, satellite imagery, and data exploitation, but everyone needed to hear what had been discovered.

"Okay, so… new to this kind of thing, so bear with me." Kamala Khan stood in front of the semi-circle of Avengers, looking a little nervous at being front-and-center of everyone. It was a big difference to talk to people on an individual or friendly basis and doing public speaking or a meeting. "Edward and I have been combing through the data that he evidently stole from the NSA to find out more if this is, in fact, HYDRA. While we haven't found the actual office note claiming 'hooray HYDRA!', we have found a good deal of circumstantial and supporting evidence that there is something going on with the American Government that eludes to what Edward has said; that there will be something happening on December 15." The young woman pulled up a document that was labeled PROJECT: INSIGHT that had a launch date of December Fifteenth. She then pulled up seven more documents holographically that had a list of names on them that were also labeled PROJECT: INSIGHT.

"Now we're still looking for the smoking gun, so-to-speak," Kamala continued, "but what we do know is that we found several lists that have approximately a thousand names of various importance to the American way of life on them. These names range from government employees, business leaders, stock brokers, elected officials, media personages, interest group members, and high-level government officials… and us." Jenn could see the lists as Kamala highlighted one of them. "This is the 'big wig' list, so to speak. It has the name of the top members of the American Government along with others. You'll find the President, the Secretary of State, the Vice Secretary of Defense, six Supreme Court Justices, the Joint Chief of Staff, several leading Congressional Sub-Committee members, the Attorney General, the FBI Director, and two former Presidents on this list. There's a few others that are outside of Washington, DC, but for the most part most of these people work and reside in the District of Columbia."

"I see our names are on there." Captain Steven Grant Rogers pointed out. Jenn noticed she topped that list; her name was right above President Obama's. Tony Stark's was sixth, Steve's tenth, and several more lower down. It struck her as odd that Kamala's name was on that list, and ranked twenty-second, above the Black Widow and, surprisingly enough, Hope van Dyne's. Doctor Hank Pym, Doctor Erik Selvig, and Doctor Jane Foster were in the top twenty-five, above most of the ground team members of the Avengers.

_It's based on precedence,_ the lawyer thought to herself as she looked at the list, not seeing Doctor Robert Bruce Banner, Commander Nathaniel Troy Dugan, or Lieutenant Sam Wilson on that list. _Threat value… and I rank higher than the fucking President._

"What you don't see," Khan continued as she pulled up another screen, with a list of names that wasn't labeled with PROJECT: INSIGHT, thus a self-made list, "are the names that _didn't_ make the list. Like the Vice-President, the Secretary of Defense, the Senate Pro Tempe, the House Majority Leader, the NSA Director, the CIA Director, the Army Chief of Staff, and the White House Chief of Staff. Edward mentioned a coup, so I did a diagram of the remaining positions that _wouldn't_ pertain to the deadline, and there's just enough people to run a government in case of an attack."

"But how the hell do they plan to get to that many people?" Jessica Campbell Jones asked, saying what everyone else was thinking. "You're talking about knocking off some of the most visible and protected people in this country. Killing a couple of them would sound the alarms and send some of those people into… I dunno, fortified bunkers and whatever it is you see on movies for such things. If you take a shot at the President or one of those others, security would tighten. There's no way you're killing a thousand people scattered all over DC in a short period of time without half of them running for the hills and the other half grabbing a gun. You're not popping the President, the Secretary of State, and John McCain on the same day. It's impossible."

"Not if you have something no one would expect." Edward Snowden spoke up, standing from his seat and moving to Kamala's side. "You thought the same thing I did; if this is a hit list, how do you take out that many people in a short enough amount of time to be effective? The President and Vice-President are separated just for that reason, and even the government buildings in DC are far enough away that you would need a massive bombing raid to take out that many, and even then it's guesswork. Even if HYDRA controlled the flow of information, which they can, getting that many people to do tactical strikes, the other option, would still run the risk of someone talking or discovering what's going on. Even December 7th and September 11th had _some_ intelligence that something significant was going on even if the intelligence apparatus fumbled with it. Even most coups in third-world countries have an idea something's about to occur a few days prior due to set-up, planning, logistics, and execution. Getting that many people to orchestrate such a thing would be painfully obvious a few days prior.

"Unless there existed an organization that exists behind the scenes." Snowden pointed out as he brought up another holographic document, this one with a symbol most everyone on the plane recognized.

"Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division? What's that?" Jones asked, reading the header of the memo that contained the word 'PROJECT: INSIGHT' in it.

"SHIELD is the parent organization that's responsible for curtailing world wars, nuclear arms sales, exotic threat intervention, and illegal scientific research and development programs." Agent Maria Jacoba Hill replied, looking troubled. "We're the ones that _created_ the Avenger Initiative and brought them together in the days prior to the Battle of New York. The World Security Council had shut down the idea several times, but Colonel Fury, the Director of Operations, insisted on keeping the program alive and even purloined its proposed members as a form of response when the Tesseract was stolen by Loki of Asgard." Maria was looking at the list where _Fury, Nicholas Joseph_ was written just above Tony Stark's name. Jenn had noted that _Hill, Maria Jacoba_ was listed near the bottom of the list. "I don't see any of the Council's names on that list." That was delivered to Jenn, who _did_ know their identities. She hadn't thought of looking for their names. She recalled their conversation months prior when the lawyer had asked who had authorized a nuclear strike on Midtown and Maria had answered the question. Oh, the American Government had covered for it, claiming that the nuclear weapon had been 'sent' to Tony Stark to be personally delivered to the wormhole that was letting in the alien invasion, a claim made by Secretary of Defense Alexander Pierce. Since the move had been a success, the event had been seen in a mostly positive light considering the threat that the Chitauri provided. The man hadn't been sacked for deploying a nuclear weapon without authorization.

Jenn knew better.

"So this PROJECT: INSIGHT is really just the codename for the deadline?" Rogers asked, leaning against the bulkhead of the loft as he looked on.

"I think it's the whole idea; the target list, how they're going to do it… and whom they're going to blame." Snowden pulled up a schematic that had Jenn suck in a breath; it was easily recognizable as the ACVN-64 _Constellation_. "One portion of PROJECT: INSIGHT is the creation of this… flying aircraft carrier, which is really the CV-63 _Kitty Hawk_…"

"The _Kitty Hawk_?" Clinton Francis Barton interjected. "Like, the actual _Kitty Hawk_."

"…along with the CVN-65…"

"Jesus, that's the fucking _Enterprise_." Commander Nathaniel Troy Dugan pointed out, his tone hard. Even Jenn knew of the _Enterprise_; the world's first nuclear-powered aircraft carrier. It had been decommissioned earlier that year, just prior to the Battle of New York!

"…as well as the _America_ and the _JFK_." More holographic projections were shown of the ships in question, four in all. Each of them had the telltale signs of thrusters on its sides for flight-capability much like the _Constellation_, save that they weren't aerofoil turbines, but some kind of…

"Are those repuslor thrusters? StarkTech?" Walters asked as she felt a distinct chill in her blood.

"Yes" Kamala informed the Esquire, troubled by the revelation as she sifted through holographic screens, obviously searching for something. "I learned it working with Mister Stark on PROJECT: MATILDA, which is this plane. Mister Stark is _very_ ham-fisted about his technology especially after what his business partner did back in 2008 and that one Russian guy and Mister Hammer did in 2010." Jenn nodded in complete agreement with what the teenaged prodigy explained. Kamala was absolutely right about Tony's feelings about his technology and his fears on what others could do with it. Walters was rather glad that Stark was a great deal more responsible with his creations, having learned a very hard lesson. "So how the heck did they get that technology from under Mister Stark's nose? Making the _Gungnir_ was an accomplishment for us, and we really just revamped a C-17 that's a lot smaller and already an airplane. Ah! Here we are! The last three." The last three ships popped up before them, and Rogers shifted.

"That looks incredibly like the _Missouri_." Captain America said, looking at the vessel in question that didn't have a flight deck, instead sporting several massive triple-barreled deck guns on its bow and stern. Those guns fired some incredibly big shells at ridiculous distances, and could easily take out buildings and possibly level a city block. But the projection showed that, like the _Kitty Hawk_ and the _Enterprise_, the vessel had repuslor thrusters grafted onto its sides for lift. Portions of the hull had been cut out as well for a lower gun deck of some sort with side cannons sticking out that Jenn didn't recognize.

"It says here that the ships are the _Iowa_-Class BB-65 _Illinois_ and the BB-66 _Kentucky_. Aren't those the battleships from World War II? Like the _Arizona_ and the _Missouri_?" Kamala asked, looking over her shoulder to the group that sat behind her as she worked.

"I know those names." Dugan proclaimed, standing up from where he sat. "The _Wisconsin_ and the _Missouri_ were the last of the _Iowa_-Class Battleships to be completed… but not the last ones." He pointed out to the two ships in question. "Two more were halfway complete when the War ended, and they were never finished. Pretty sure they were sold for scrap quite some time ago, like fifty years ago."

"But if HYDRA was never _actually_ defeated, existing in the shadows this whole time… they could have snapped up those 'scrap' ships and pulled them away with everyone none the wiser." Jenn pointed out, looking at the colored projection of the two _Iowa_-Class vessels. While the modern Navy had gone with air superiority and missile technology for its strength, the Pacific Theater had been a host of _thousands_ of vessels looking to sink the other, bringing down ships with the thunder of guns while airplanes such as the P-51 Mustang and the A6M Zero protected bombers that would release ordinance to sink vessels with lucky hits. The _Iowa_-Class was built to lead navies and sink nautical titans. While Walters wasn't a nautical expert, she was pretty sure she heard somewhere that the only vessel currently in the United States Navy Active Duty Service with a confirmed enemy sinking was the USS _Constitution_… back in 1812. Everything from World War Two had been decommissioned and either scrapped or turned into museums, and the current flagships, the _Nimitz_-Class nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, had never engaged another vessel quite like it. Not that any like the American aircraft carrier actually existed considering the _Nimitz_-Class had twice as many carriers as the second-leading naval power, which was Italy. Not only did America have more, they were significantly larger in size and capability as well. Jenn was fairly certain that America had more carriers than nine other naval powers _combined_.

Seven flying naval fortresses seemed excessive when England had one and France three… unless the goal for those Helicarriers were to take on the United States Navy.

"That's how they're going to do it." Jennifer whispered to herself, though several of the Avengers looked at her when she did so, hearing her words. "Jessica asked how someone can manage to kill so many important people in a short amount of time, factoring in the possibility of security and escape. Those… are the snipers." Everyone looked to the pictures in question. "Edward, didn't you say that there was some program to trace cell phone calls, texts, usage, and location?"

"Yeah. MAINWAY and BullRun." Snowden replied, looking troubled. "NSA regularly hacks into the data bases of the four largest phone carriers in the country, as well as tapping into personal e-mail accounts. Put those two together…" The hacker looked at the carriers and battleships. "One could use the wireless-fidelity network as well as satellite imagery to make a targeting program to seek and eliminate certain individuals based on their cell phone numbers and locations. Add that to camera feeds, debit card usages… hell, anything electronic that has your name or personal information connected to it. You think they just launch one of these things up in the air and just…" His voice petered off, his bespectacled eyes going wide.

"That's what they were going for with the _Valkyrie_; crippling the governments for eventual overthrow." Steve said, shaking his head. "Instead of a large bomber to fly around the world, now they have seven large naval ships that will do the flying, able to cover more ground and eliminate targets while keeping the infrastructure more-or-less intact."

"Yeah, but how the hell are they going to pull that off without pissing off everyone in America and the world?" Jones asked, sitting on a case with her elbows on her knees. "If those things take to the skies and just… just start shooting at everyone, you know people are going to fight back. Resistances and civil war."

"Those missing names are probably a part of it." Natasha replied, her arms folded across her chest. "After that, they probably can hold the world hostage if they have enough control of the American Government. Navy, Army, nuclear weapons… plus, they have the Scepter. If they suspect you of not playing ball, they poke you with it and instant loyalty."

"So we have five days to figure out how to take down seven flying death machines, stop and expose HYDRA, and save America. I think I'm missing the aliens right about now." Clint Barton scoffed. "But I think I see why you topped the list, boss; we're the only ones that haven't been infiltrated or corrupted." Kamala helpfully pulled up the list of names. "See? We're all on it, and all these people here were probably deemed too risky to convert. Couldn't get to the President, so they got the Vice-President somehow. Joint Chief of Staff wouldn't fold, so he's got to go. But while everyone here is a part of the system of government," Hawkeye looked to Jenn, "you're the wild card. You don't need permission."

"He's right." Romanoff spoke out loud, nodding her head. "We're like the Untouchables, out of their reach. They have to eliminate us…"

"…because we're the biggest threat." Steve Rogers exclaimed, snorting out loud as he stood there. "You top the President because HYDRA's managed to corrupt and fold a portion of the chain-of-command. Even if he discovered it, there's enough individuals missing on the target list to suggest that his orders might not go through or the information will come back tainted or misleading. You, on the other hand, don't have that problem."

"You command integrity and loyalty." Doctor Doreen Allene Green said from behind them, looking… thoughtful. "Those words came up a lot when they took me. They expected complete integrity and loyalty in their ranks. I… didn't see a lot of blue eyes like what Jessica or James had when I was escorted or moved around. Some of those missing names," the Veterinarian, "might be people like I was; forced beyond our wills. But I suspect not as many as you'd think or you'd like. Psychological profiling would be my first guess, but that many people without anyone getting a word that this is happening seems… impossible."

"Not if you're controlling the data." Edward Snowden interjected. "They've got their fingers in every intelligence-gathering agency in America, which also means most of the intelligence-gathering agencies in Europe, too. They control the flow of data coming in… and out. They could _rewrite_ what is reported and have it delivered to someone none-the-wiser. Then they can assess potential assets through their e-mails, phone calls, texts, spending habits, credit and FICO scores… literally sift through for the vulnerable and the exploitable. I assume that there's some sort of failsafe for people in case someone gets chatty or cold feet. If they're monitoring everything electronically, they could prevent a lot of loose ends… remove them too. Intercepts, dropped calls, rerouted calls. I tried contacting my superiors on the things I was seeing and got nowhere. Perhaps… perhaps I wasn't actually reaching them if they've got a monitoring system that could act as if I had and respond without their knowledge. A proxy server that both sends and receives. It would explain how they caught onto me despite me trying to cover my tracks. Probably eliminating anyone that caught on."

"They did." Green replied, her tone forlorn. Jenn grimaced at that, knowing exactly _whom_ was sent to cut those loose ends. _Doreen, Jessica, this James…_ they were the hit squad that HYDRA was using to cover their tracks. She recalled what the Veterinarian had said about herself earlier; that her work would look like vicious animal attacks and maulings. No one would catch on because they _didn't_ look like murders or hits. _And they're using Jessica for the same exact thing,_ Jennifer had to close her eyes for that, trying not to think of her daughter being used like some fucking superpowered assassin. _Hold on, baby, I'm going to find a way to rescue you._ "Out of everyone they talked about, the Avengers were most certainly on the top of their shit list. They can't control you, contain you, or compromise you. Plus, I think you foiled some earlier plan of theirs." Doreen was looking at Jenn. "It wasn't explained, but there was something that they had going on that you either stopped or eliminated, I'm not sure which. Something that made them accelerate their time line to something… much sooner, I think. Perhaps even a year or two earlier."

"That means they're aren't as ready as they'd like to be. That's an advantage." Nat pointed out. "Mistakes, logistics not in place, people not where they needed to be, preparations made in haste. Things we can exploit."

"Actually, I have an idea."

Everyone was looking at Kamala Khan as she looked away from the data she had been researching to turn to the group.

"Everything that I've seen that pertains to this PROJECT: INSIGHT really boils down to one systematic flaw; data collection and collation." The young woman said, looking to everyone. "Taking on the leader is all well and good, but taking away their means of communication is better. If we take away their ability to see, hear, and coordinate, they just end up being a scary big army with guns and some impressive warships; something that we could probably get the military to help us out with when the time comes. But it boils down to the fact that they're dependent on their ability to track and trace everyone.

"What we need to do is cut them off from the data." Kamala pulled up an image, something she had found. A location in New Jersey.

"We need to kill Big Brother."

* * *

**Camp Lehigh, Wheaton, New Jersey, December 10, 2012**

Doctor Doreen Allene Green, (DVM) found herself walking down an abandoned concrete road along with the Avengers as she approached an old stretch of cyclone fencing with traditional strands of barbed wire topping the wired fence as she looked around o the surround trees of the area, her hazel eyes looking for moment. A deep breath had her picking up the scent of the light layer of snow that had fallen the previous night blanketing the ground but not the road. She felt the tingle in her senses that indicated that there _was_ life inside… animal life. She could feel them like thoughts, their attentions and instincts rolling about on her conscious. Few were out and about thanks to the winter season, most animals prone to hibernating through the months of frost, but there were a few that were awake and aware. She smiled as she felt the scurrying thoughts of rats, one of the few smaller species that didn't hibernate through the winter, the small, scurrying creatures able to access through much with their ability to climb most anything and fit into tight spots.

"Rats say this place is empty. No smelly stompers indoors." Doreen told Captain Steve Rogers as Captain America walked in front of her by several meters, heading towards the obvious gate, closed and barred by use of a chain and lock.

"_Smelly stompers?"_ Clint Barton asked from somewhere in the woodline, carrying his signature bow and scanning the perimeter and providing covering fire if needed. Lieutenant Sam Wilson was on the ground with them despite wearing his wing suit that he called the FALCON Suit, though he had a hawk-like drone that was flying overhead for reconnaissance. The _Gungnir _had deposited them a few miles away in an empty snow-covered glade before gaining altitude to provide intelligence, information, control, and retrieval. Seven Avengers had been dropped off to find a location that Kamala Khan had discovered through the load of data that Edward Snowden had procured from the National Security Agency pertaining to illegal spying _by_ the US Government on its people, allies, and pretty much everyone else under the sun.

"That would be us." Doreen elaborated, getting Commander Nate Dugan to snort over the EarComm that she had as he traveled several meters to her right, armed with a large-caliber M-4. "Can't hear much from the interiors, but I don't hear an of them calling out in panic from predators or humans. Place doesn't just look abandoned, it _is_ abandoned."

"_We'll confirm it, Artemis."_ Captain Rogers replied as he carried his famous shield on his left arm, taking the lead as he approached the gate. '_Artemis_' had been the codename she had been given by Kamala Khan, naming her after the Greek Goddess of the Hunt due to her ability to command animals. It was pretty cool, actually. At least it hadn't been _Doctor Dolittle_ considering her profession. She might have gotten a little catty with that. _"Falcon, is Archimedes_ _finding anything else in the vicinity?"_

"_Nothing on thermal or infrared for at least half-a-mile."_ Wilson replied. _"Can't see inside the buildings, but there's no residue heat signatures of footprints in the snow. No broken snow, no snow trails, and certainly no one went and shoveled the snow. I agree with Artemis; there's nothing suggesting that this place is occupied."_

"_Then we move forward."_ The Captain said as he looked to one side, nodding to where Natasha Romanoff stood in the snow, highlighted magnificently by the white background due to her black tactical body suit. At least Doreen took a lightweight parka to pretend to blend in. The Black Widow moved to where the lock was several meters ahead of Captain America, pulling out a few things from one of the pouches of her tactical pouches on her belt and began foiling the lock with what appeared to be a lockpicking gun, squeezing the trigger several times to shave the tumblers down to defeat the mechanism. Doreen moved by the fence, keeping her eyes moving even though neither she nor the animal consciousnesses she could hear could detect anything as Natasha gave off a small '_done_' of success as the clicking of a lock and the slight rattling chain was heard as the Black Widow fed the length through one of the gaps before swinging the bar lock off, grabbing one of the gates as Doreen grabbed the other, he both of them pulling them to swing them open partially to give admittance. Captain Rogers filed in first, his shield up front and at the ready as he dashed ahead, followed by Clint Barton with his bow, Nate Dugan with his heavy-caliber M-4 rifle, Sam Wilson with an Heckler + Koch MP-5, and finally Jessica Jones with nothing in her hands; the private investigator admitted to never having any experience with a firearm, and said she was likely to break a trigger in the heat of the moment or likely miss completely and hit something she didn't want. While the Doctor hadn't been told exactly that Jessica was enhanced, the Veterinarian figured as much considering she wasn't ex-military nor was she carrying something exotic.

No, Jessica _was_ exotic.

Both Natasha and herself closed the gate to make it look as if nothing had changed, slipping the bar lock back into place as Doreen slipped her Sig Sauer 10mm pistol out of its holster on her right hip, pulling the slide back just enough to make sure that it was properly loaded before riding it back forward and putting it on safe. Then with a thought, she flexed her hand and let her narrow, sharp nails extend further out, adding an extra inch in length from the five fingers in her left hand, sharp curved claws that she knew all too well could rend and tear flesh with ease. Romanoff saw the act, but thankfully she didn't say a word. Doreen wasn't ready to explain what had happened to her… or what more she could change into. She wasn't sure she wanted to think on it or remember it, especially not now.

"So what is this place? Besides some abandoned Army Depot?" Doctor Green asked the redhead beside her as they moved towards the group of Avengers ahead of them. "Looks like it hasn't been used in decades."

"_I did my Basic Training here."_ Captain America replied softly, his helmeted head looking around, panning from left to right, his eyes no doubt seeing more than World War Two-era buildings. _"That's where General Phillips threw a grenade at us. Said you win wars with guts and tossed it at us while we were doing side-straddle hops."_

"_That's fancy military talk for 'jumping jacks'."_ Dugan pointed out for everyone else.

_[Wait, some guy just throws a freaking grenade in the middle of you doing calisthenics?]_ Kamala Aisha Khan's incensed voice piped up over the EarComm, the mission communication specialist and controller. Though the young woman actually had _an_ Avenger name (_Miss Marvel_ was pretty good superhero name), her callsign for the mission was 'Little Sister', an obvious play on Big Brother from George Orwell's _1984_. _[Did they sack the jerk?]_

"Doubt it, considering General Chester Phillips was one of SHIELD's co-founders." Natasha replied, looking amused as they joined the rest of the ground team, holding a Walter PPK at the low-ready in her right hand. "Was that when you threw yourself on a grenade while everyone else jumped away?" That was obviously a question meant for Captain America. Doreen found herself having to occasionally pinch her arm to make sure she wasn't in some weird dream, considering she was standing along with three of the Heroes of New York and trying not to stare at how Captain Rogers' uniform left little to the imagination. Serious, the guy's chest-to-waist ratio would put most women to tears!

"Yeah." The answer from the World War Two Veteran was more melancholy than the Veterinarian would have expected. "That was one of several things that ultimately got me selected for PROJECT: REBIRTH." Again, there wasn't any boastful pride or swaggering smile with that statement. Doreen wondered if Rogers felt a little more similar to what she felt towards her own transformation even if he had volunteered after he had been told what would happen. _I guess we all pay a price_, Green thought to herself. "Y'know, that bunker isn't suppose to be there." The red, white, and blue-uniformed man said as he pointed at a nearby building that was built with a trapezoid front, the sides slanting away from the roof to make it less obvious from the air as well as providing protection from bombs. With the light coating of snow, it was probably impossible to see; no doubt that was the point back during the days of World War, Cold War, and potential Nuclear War. "Army regulation states that ammunition depots have to be at least five hundred yards away from a barracks." His pointing finger went from the bunker to the building that was practically next to it, maybe a hundred feet away. "It's too close."

"Are we going to write them a ticket?" Jessica Jones asked, holding herself a little too much and keeping her hands under her armpits to fight off the cold as her breath steamed out with her words a little more than everyone else's did. Doreen had to make a note of that for later. Like the Doctor had, Jessica had gotten her own 'superhero' name as well; something that everyone seemed to be having. She guessed there was a little comfort in anonymity even if SHIELD/HYDRA knew exactly who she was. Still, the Veterinarian guessed it was just a part of being in the club. Kamala had come up with the nickname, the little teenager being a complete fangirl of such things like all nerdy teenaged girls were. Where as Doreen Green had ended up with the name _Artemis_, the Greek Goddess of the Hunt, Jessica Jones had gotten _Zephyr_; the Greek Goddess of the West Wind. Well, supposedly the private detective could actually fly.

_[Base schematics and construction plans don't even show the bunker in question]_, Kamala said over the EarComm, obviously looking it up, either from public record or something from a local government zoning agency. _[No outside power sources, no satellite or dishes for connectivity, no wifi… completely off the grid and on its own energy supply. I imagine there's some old-school hardlines for telephones for a place like this. Otherwise it's a dead space. Mystery building is showing some form of interference. I think it's a hardened structure meant to deny radio intercept. Mentor says old-school Faraday Cage. You go in, and we won't be able to keep contact]_

"Faraday Cage?" Doreen asked, looking around at the nearby Avengers as they headed for the bunkers' door.

"Electromagnetic shell that snows electronic interception of signals to prevent outside hacking and unauthorized data transfers." Natasha Romanoff supplied. "You see it in any real government agency that contains classified or sensitive materials. But this building is old; it predates the Internet and even the World Wide Web. It doesn't look like it's been used in at least twenty-five years. Hacking back then consisted of floppy disks, phishing boxes, and straight out physical theft; you wouldn't need a hardened structure to prevent interference back then."

_[Wow, you know your hacking history]_ Edward Snowden's voice came to the EarComm, _Mentor_ being his handle, named after some legendary old-school hacker named Loyd Blankenship. The NSA hacker was providing intelligence and information support alongside Kamala, and probably trying to break into more computers or cell phone networks. _[Little Sister's right about the connectivity. That was a regular defeat against parabolic microphones and long-range surveillance for lip-reading back in the old-school spy days. Brushed off my Tom Clancy collection for that one]_ That had Jones snort while Doreen… felt a little giddy about that. She had gone to the CIA Training Facility to become an Intelligence Agent for America; to be a spy. To hear some of the older methods that still would work made her feel that same feeling she had when she accepted going to Camp Leary, that tingling excitement of being recognized for her capabilities. That brought up darker times and the Veterinarian shook off the thought, not wanting to remember being an unwilling victim and a slave to the thing that was inside of her, of all the things they had done to her. She hadn't even told the others a fraction of it.

"We go in." Captain Steve Rogers announced as he went to the door in question. A test of the handle proved that it was locked, and Clint Barton provided a small breeching charge that looked to be the shape of a shotgun round with a magnetic front that he connected to the lock and pressed the plunger, the archer and the Super soldier stepping aside for a moment as there was a dull thump of a small directed shaped explosive that blew the lock and cylinder inward. The blond man pushed the door open, his shield raised in defense as he entered through the portal, stepping inside for a few seconds before voicing the all clear. Natasha and Clint were next, slipping inside while Jessica and herself came in afterwards, followed by Nate and Sam. Doreen found herself standing inside of a concrete complex that looked to be a fairly large sized lobby with that universal government look to it; blank walls, little decor, cheap furniture and carpeting, and florescent lighting. Yet it was merely the lobby, and the back wall contained the only way deeper into the complex; a single elevator. What caught her eye was a symbol that was upon the back wall. A circle with a eagle that was vaguely Byzantine save that it was only single-headed and had the words 'STRATEGIC HOMELAND INTERVENTION ENFORCEMENT AND LOGISTICS DIVISION' encircling it. _SHIELD_, Doctor Green thought to herself, having been told a little of the organization by Major Maria Hill and Jennifer Walters. She wasn't exactly impressed.

"This must be the original Headquarters." Romanoff said softly, looking at the few desks and the security station, which was merely a desk with an actual dial phone on it, Doreen noted with some amusement. "A far cry from the SHIELD of today."

_[I'm sending a couple of laser fidelity drones to you for connectivity and any possible data manipulation and extraction]_ Kamala's voice came up. _[Leave the doors open while we monitor the outside, and we should be able to keep in radio contact. Deploying now, and they should be in your position in a minute]_ The Veterinarian had to admit that, for the little she had known the teenager, Kamala impressed the hell out of her. Evidently she was a bit of a tech guru who had helped out the Avengers in the past and had gotten an internship in Stark Tower over the previous summer as well as doing weekends, too. The little Muslim girl was pretty much the Avengers' version of 'Q' from the _James Bond_ films, creating new and innovating ways for the Avengers to go and kick some ass. That was certainly saying something, especially since Doreen herself was wearing a pair of WileyX protective eye glasses that served as a digital compass, a destination marker, and even route finder that the Pakistani-American young woman had created _alongside_ Tony Stark. True to form, five drones that had four fan-like propellers on their tops came hovering through the front door that they had entered, one staying right in the doorframe for initial contact between drone and _Gungnir_. The Doctor was pretty damn certain the CIA and the military didn't have anything like this. _[Okay, I'm showing that the structures' design is meant to be radio-impeding, not through the use of equipment. As long as you keep the drones within range of one another, a hundred meters or so, we should be able to maintain radio contact, but any download speeds will be reduced to about fifty percent]_

"We'll try to keep the YouTube and LimeWire down to a minimum, Little Sister." Commander Dugan replied with a snort, making Sam Wilson chuckle. Rogers had already hit the access button as the four whisper-quiet drones followed behind them obediently. The elevator opened up to show a large car designed to fit at least a dozen people inside as the Avengers filed in, the quad-fan drones flying above them to make room as Doreen saw that there were at least five options for floors.

"Top down, or bottom up?" Clint Barton asked, looking at the five possible buttons.

"Don't talk dirty, Hawkeye. There are young ears listening." Natasha teased with sass in her voice, Jessica Jones biting a finger as she snorted out laughter, both Nate and Sam chuckling, as well as audible _'oh good heaven!_' heard over the EarComm's from said owner of young ears. The tension of entering an unknown building without any kind of schematic or intelligence to it had deflated a little thanks to the Black Widow's sense of humor, and Doctor Green had to admit she would have to remember that one. Captain America solved that riddle by pressing the lowest button marked 'B5', obviously thinking the lowest level would likely have the most interesting things. Made sense.

"Remember, just because this place is abandoned doesn't mean it's empty." Captain Rogers reminded them as the elevator slowly plunged deeper into the earth. "There's obviously power, so there could still be alarm systems and monitoring equipment off-site. Keep it in mind we could be walking into a camouflaged active site or a trap." The lighted dial on the elevator illuminated 'B3' as the elevator continued to descend, darkening before it illuminated the next option below it, 'B4'. When it reached 'B5', there was a helpful analog 'ding' of arrival as Doreen held her Sig Sauer low, everyone standing behind Captain America as he held his shield at the ready as the doors slid open to reveal the floor before them.

* * *

First Lieutenant Samuel Thomas Wilson moved through a corridor that looked straight out of a Sixties-Era war film involving military instillations, carrying his Heckler + Koch MP5-N in a two-handed grip as he stalked down a corridor alongside Doctor Doreen Green and Jessica Jones. There had been an intersection on the last level of the bunker compound they had entered, so they had split up into three teams to search each for what Kamala Khan had located in the HYDRA files stolen by Edward Snowden; the earliest files involving PROJECT: INSIGHT had been produced in Camp Lehigh. While they didn't know where the actual HYDRA data collection point was (Sam seriously doubted it was this place), it made sense that there would be clues or paperwork detailing other locations; shipping labels, old files, plans left behind, the little things. Since the place still stood and it didn't look like anyone took a torch to the place, there would likely be something that might mention possible locations, at least to narrow down prospective areas for future missions. Sam knew what the movies _didn't_ show about such things was that hours, days, and weeks were spent finding data and intelligence to pinpoint effective locations to strike out to bring down an enemy or to deliver them a decisive blow. One didn't just point out some random location on a map and go '_here!_' just to hope for the best. SHIELD was suppose to be responsible for that 'here' portion along with enemy composition, abilities, and exploitation. But with SHIELD possibly compromised, possibly hosting the enemy it had been created to fight, corrupted for who knew how long and who knew how deep or how high, they were going to have to develop their own intelligence and locations. Thankfully, most of them had trained and done something like just like this.

Actually, they all had something that fit the bill now that Sam thought about it; Doreen was a trained Intelligence Officer, and Jessica a private investigator.

"Another mostly empty room with Seventies' Era junk." Jessica Jones commented as she opened up a standard wooden interior door to look inside, one door out of many that line the hall. The last five doors hadn't held much, either. "This looks like a cubical office environment you can find in just about any high-rise downtown save it's underground. The good stuff _should_ be around here somewhere. Doesn't make sense to put a big hole in the ground and build an underground office complex just to have desks and phones."

"You know, I haven't seen one fire extinguisher yet. Or a 'Break Glass' box." Doctor Green commented, getting Sam to frown and look to his left at the Veterinarian. "There's usually an evacuation placard above such things to remind people where to go for emergencies, and it's a way to get the layout of a floor." Huh, that was actually pretty good stuff, Sam mused to himself as he eyeballed the hallway they were in with its fifteen or so doors to go. He didn't see one red cylinder attached to a wall, or a red box containing a fire hose, a fire extinguisher, or a fire axe. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen one ceiling attachment made of white plastic with the word 'EXIT' cut out and highlighted by green tint and lit from within. Sam was pretty certain that was more than just a requirement by law. Doreen opened up a door on her side, peering in. "Filing room, old school cabinets. Not one… God, what did they call those old computer stacks? The ones that filled up the rooms?"

_[Magnetic Tape Machines, mainframes… heh, _processors_]_, came the amused voice of Kamala Khan as her voice came over the EarComm with a little difficulty. _[I'm trying to imagine a computer that could only factor in four bits of information per second. Old programing cards use to be just that; physical cards. Makes you wonder how the US Navy did it back in the Sixties with targeting computers with glass tubes and fuses. I don't even _know_ what they actually look like]_

"I assume a semi-sealed room with air conditioning, like they do today." Sam offered as he kept the hallway covered as the ladies checked the side doors. They had split up the teams to cover more ground, but had given him the two 'new' Avengers to be both part-baby sitter and part-assessing officer.

While not exactly thrilled with the arrangement, Wilson admitted that Doctor Doreen Green looked to be as good as advertised. Sam assumed that CIA Basic Training was a good deal like military training where discipline and physical conditioning was a part of it along with fundamentals and assessment of skills. Being a licensed Medical Doctor (of animals, but still) was certainly a boon; there was certain skills and training involved in that that no one else had. No doubt Doctor Banner would get a kick out of someone else with extensive knowledge in biology and biochemistry. So having a well-educated woman with physical training as well as knowledge in firearms and self-defense meant she was pretty well-rounded for field work with the potential for more both off and on missions. While perhaps not a 'human' Doctor, she could easily do most of that work without many issues, continue her education towards other fields or specialties, growing as a person and as a member of the team. All in all, Sam had to say that at the initial look of things, Doctor Green would be a pretty damn good addition to the roster.

Jessica Jones he was still iffy about. Wilson fully admitted that he never would have thought that a washed-out alcoholic with a hell of a cross to bare concerning her past with a certain mind-controlling asshole would seemingly get her shit mostly together. Being military, he knew the signs of stress and someone cracking under it; that had been Jessica a few months prior during the Kilgrave mission to a 't', a woman whose idea of stress therapy was to get drunk as soon as she could. Now she wasn't looking around for that bottle despite their situation, which was a good sign. Oh, she probably did drink… but he was fully under the impression that it was quite limited and likely regimented, no longer a coping mechanism but someone who was use to long-term alcohol use trying to cut back a percentage of the time to ween herself off the dependence and hopefully lessen the impact of possible future detoxification. Not that it worked but the thought was nice. Training-wise she had exactly _zero_; nothing consider any kind of martial arts, no discipline, no college degree, nothing that made her stand out in any way save for the fact that she did somehow have some rather badass abilities. Yet what little he heard from her pointed to the fact that they were used flagrantly for her own personal use for either her employment as a private investigator or whenever she landed in hot water. While Sam wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of vigilantism (that never really did pan out well), Jessica could have attempted to do something, at least charity work or walking women from bars to their vehicles (he vaguely remembered a costumed woman doing just that in Manhattan for like a decade). Jones' only real claim to fame was her surviving Kilgrave, which he fully gave her credit for. That dude scared the shit out of him with what he could potentially do.

Right now he started small; how they would react to orders and situations. They were enhanced, they could at least look out for themselves. Now he would see if they could work together or at least show that the effort was there.

"Whatever's suppose to be here," Jessica said as she peeked into another room, sweeping it with her eyes and a flashlight, "either we're in the wrong portion of the complex or it's on another floor. I'm thinking this is an administration wing of some sort, but seems weird that it would be at the bottom floor. You'd think we'd hit a records room, some storage room to give us some ideas, or a lab of some sort." The raven-haired woman closed the door behind her and continued on. That was a good sign; she was continuing the search even after she realized that this direction was likely a bust. Most would have turned back and potentially miss that gold mine.

"I'm just glad we didn't walk into the mythical Area 51 and find aliens in a giant jar." Doreen commented, making Sam snort. Well, aliens did in fact exist so it wasn't impossible. Actually, he was pretty glad they weren't in the New Jersey version of Area 51.

_[Um, guys?]_ Came the voice of Kamala, her tone sounding worried. _[I think you might have a problem]_

_[Team Rocket just showed up], _Khan explained.

"Team Rocket?" Wilson asked, looking over to his two teammates, obviously missing something.

"It's a Pokemon reference." Doreen replied, halting in her tracks as she looked over to the Air Force Pararescueman. "Main antagonists for the kids in the cartoon show. Evil plans, getting in the way, doing battle. Normal teenage angst villains with an evil cat sidekick.

"Their names were Jesse and James." Sam realized that meant _Jessica and James_, the two superpowered individuals that they had met on the _Lemurian Star_.

They were about to get stuck in an underground facility with a flying woman who threw lightning and a Super Soldier with a metal arm.

* * *

Author's Notes: Anyone that's read the _Ms. Marvel_ comics might know that Kamala has tangled with HYDRA in the past, and I reference it when HYDRA (in the guise of Hope Yards Development and Restoration Association) began blacklisting her by using the Ms. Marvel image to promote their efforts (which involved a mind-controlled sports drink) in her home town of Jersey City. And yes… who would use their acronym as a development name? Hey, I work for True Realtor Urban Medical Properties!

Kamala invented her own version of JARVIS (which stands for _Just A Really Very Intelligent System_) and named it after Obi-Wan Kenobi. Wouldn't you? It would have been YODA… but I couldn't think of a good name that started with 'Y' that would have worked with 'Oracle Data Assistant'

_Coup d'force_? There are several coups (pronounced 'coo') in which a coup d'force is know as a hostile government takeover (such as Russia's Oktober Revolution, the French Revolution, and Francisco Franco's rise to power). There is also a _Coup d'Grace_ (a legal overthrow, best described as England's Peaceful Revolution involving Oliver Cromwell, or perhaps the fall of the USSR in 1991 in which Mikael Gorbachev and Boris Yeltsin succeeded in a transition in keeping Russia from turning into a horrifying wreck), a _Coup d'Peace_ (a peaceful overthrow, which Mahatma Gandhi would best highlight this with the Indian Revolution. Portugal's Carnation Revolution is another great example) and a _Coup d'Theater_ (a rare one but seen with Marie Antoinette's _Affair of the Diamond Necklace_ that further ruined her already tarnished reputation). There are literally hundreds of examples of insurrections, revolutions, rebellions, and takeovers in many varieties.

Heh, I mentioned Limewire, the P2P site that let users illegally download music and files. Most of those sites (ranging from the original Napster, Morpheus, Limewire, and several others) are all completely gone (Napster had a 2.0, but I don't know if it exists anymore) and likely there probably aren't too many P2P programs anymore with streaming of music, movies, and Steam available.

While most who know/are aware of _Artemis_ as the sister of Apollo, the Greek Goddess of the Hunt, _Zephyr_ is probably the most famous of the winds, seen in both of Homer's classic poems, the _Illiad_ and the _Odyssey_. All four winds had gods, but I stuck with the Goddess of the West Wind, who is also the symbol of the flower company FTD as well as Western Union (despite that Hermes was actually the Messenger God and the God of Swiftness).

Laser/Light-Fidelity - This actually does exist in real-life, known as 'Light Communications'. Information sent via a laser beam shot in pulses, you see this example everyday in lite form though your common cashier scanning the bar code or QR code of your products. For computers, a direct line-of-sight is needed, but can be used to avoid the issue of clogging wire, limited broadband… and hacking when there is no wire or wifi network to hack. This is how satellites and NASA communicates with one another.

I mention a Real-Life Superhero; the costumed woman who use to walk women from bars to their vehicles in upper Manhattan who went by the name _Terrifica_. Real identity unknown, she did this to prevent sexual assaults and date rape for something like twelve years, dressing like a jazzed-up hippie to escort women safely at night. She retired several years ago.

TEAM… ROCKET! JESSIE! JAMES! MOWITH! GO US! How the heck this series is still around with its slumps and rises is beyond me, but Pokemon has resurged… five times now? I remember Pikachu dolls from the mid-90's! (and I just had flashbacks to my Game Boy Color… *sigh*). BTW, If one looks at the best-selling games of all time list, there's about 5 Pokémon games on it at least. (The most sold game? Minecraft. #2 is Tetris)


	25. Of Traitors And Assassins, V

_Marvel Comics is owned by Marvel Entertainment. Marvel Studios is owned by Disney._

**Sub-Level 5, Camp Lehigh, Wheaton, New Jersey, December 10, 2012**

_-5 Days before __**Rot Schrader**__ deadline_

Author's Notes: Clash of the titans! Superhero battle royale! We're going to _Marvel vs. Capcom_ this chapter like it's _Mortal Kombat_!

So stoked!

* * *

Captain Steven Grant Rogers (CPT, US Army, ret.) looked over to Natasha Alianovna Romanoff as he heard the explanation of whom 'Team Rocket' was when Kamala Khan warned them over their EarComms thanks to the drones she had sent to keep in contact with the team. He wondered how the hell the two enhanced were able to locate them in an abandoned Army base when the young woman had pulled the information from data that Edward Snowden had purloined from the National Security Agency and reviewed over a private server not connected to the… internet. That would have to be a question answered later.

_[They're accessing the bunker you're in! Going straight for it!]_ The Pakistani-American alerted them through the EarComms before… _[Oh crap! They found my-]_

The transmission cut out.

"Guess a little breathing room would be too much to ask for." Natasha offered as she looked at him, checking her Heckler + Koch UMP45 Submachine Gun. "I recommend that you and I gang up on the Winter Soldier. The others are good, but they'll need to distract and handle Drew. At least underground she won't be able to fly." Steve nodded at the assessment, agreeing with Romanoff. He had come to the conclusion on his own that Natasha was likely enhanced at some point in time, likely by Soviet Russia. There were just… little things that made him think that the redhead was a good deal older than she appeared, and he had seen a few things to make him think that _someone_ had come up with a decent version of the Super Soldier Serum and had put Natasha through it. If not that particular Serum, then something similar that enhanced a persons' capabilities. Hell, Nat had dug out a piece of shrapnel out of her side that she had gotten from the _Lemurian Star_ when Clint Barton killed a bear with a grenade, and she hadn't gotten stitches or was moving with any kind of impediment. While he wanted to ask, he let it be. She was enhanced; simple as that. What mattered was that they stood together.

"Hawkeye, you heard Widow." The Captain spoke while touching his EarComm, a force of habit for him that wasn't necessary. "Take refuge with the others in some of the side rooms in the first intersection and get ready to ambush Jessica while Widow and I engage James. Remember, these people are being subjected to mind-control, so pull your shots, not your punches. A knock-out blow to the skull or a good concussion should shake off the control." Steve wasn't sure how enhanced Jessica was, the thought both breaking his heart and infuriating him to no end. James, though, was a great deal like him, considering the fight they had on the _Lemurian Star_. Though he had worn some protective face shield on the lower half of his face and ballistic goggles to protect his eyes as well denying the chance to identify him with facial recognition software (Steve knew sketch artists had been doing stuff like that since the Nineteenth Century for criminal recognition, so it would make sense there was a more modern equivalent), Steve knew that he had been looking at a Super Soldier. The strength, the speed, the precision, the _grace_; it was all there. While it was likely impossible to tell _how_ similar they were in abilities, the Captain didn't doubt that it was more than close enough that every ounce of skill and ability would be needed to prove himself the victor against the one called the Winter Soldier.

Out of everyone, Natasha was he one with the most amount of skills and training similar to his own to help defeat what sounded like an enhanced assassin.

"Artemis, what can you tell me about James?" Steve asked as both he and Nat moved back towards the elevator, preparing themselves mentally for the fight ahead as he asked the only person who could possibly know anything of fact about the Winter Solder; Doctor Doreen Green.

"_Not much, I'm afraid. I'm not even sure if James is his first or last name."_ The auburn-haired woman admitted over the radio. _"I know they generally called him the Winter Soldier or the Asset, but every once in a while someone would call him James, like a slip. Whatever he is, he's been doing it for a _long_ time. Like… decades."_ That had Romanoff grunt. _"He's fast as a car, can lift the back end of a sedan up, fast reflexes, and one hell of a hand-to-hand fighter. Other than that? Brown hair, Caucasian, bit of a beard? His left arm is completely made of metal, but I have no idea how it's that advanced. I know it's his most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Damn good shot, usually carries assault rifles, grenades, explosives, knives… guy's like an even better version of the Terminator. Never heard him talk outside of status updates on missions."_

"Controlled by the Scepter?" The Black Widow asked as they continued towards the elevator, almost there.

"_Yes. He had the same blue eyes that Jessica had when I first met him."_ The Doctor confirmed, acknowledging something they suspected but didn't know. _"But I got the impression he's been under their control for quite some time. More than years, probably decades."_

"When the elevator opens and they exit," Steve began as they reached the corridor that the elevator faced, seeing the light going from 'B2' to 'B3', "we'll draw the Winter Soldier away while you ambush Jessica. Primary mission is to engage, apprehend, and break HYDRA's hold on them. Detain them afterwards for confirmation." Clinton Francis Barton, Lieutenant Samuel Thomas Wilson, Commander Nathaniel Troy Dugan, Doctor Doreen Allene Green, and Jessica Campbell Jones all nodded as they went for the nearest side rooms in the corridor leading from the elevator, preparing themselves with their respective weapons and equipment, the doors of the room closing so that all it looked like was that Captain America and the Black Widow occupied the hallway. The elevator reached 'B5' as there was a ding at the conveyance. "Get ready." Steve told Nat as she flicked out her twin set of electrified retractable batons, spinning them at the ready as she crouched into a position that would give her mobility in any direction as Rogers shouldered his shield, leaning forward slightly to take the impact of anything coming towards it as the doors slid open.

And out walked the opposition.

Steve saw the two of them walk out casually of the elevator, a man armed with an assault firearm that actually looked to be an Atchisson Assault Shotgun, known as the Auto Assault-12 (AA-12) Shotgun, with a large drum magazine sticking out of the boxy-looking weapons' lower receiver, and a woman not armed at all. Rogers noted that the man, like before, was wearing a black tactical vest that protected the upper torso while having a series of attachments to carry extra magazines and equipment upon his person. The vest left the man's arms bare, and while the right arm was very human, thick with muscle, the left one demanded attention, covered in metal bands that completely engulfed the limb from upper shoulder to fingertips, only broken by the fingerless leather gloves that he wore on his hands. The face was covered with a protective tactical mask that covered the lower portion of his face, disguising everything from jawline to the bridge of his nose, while a pair of protective shaded goggles adorned his eyes. Long brown hair draped down and covered the sides of his head and face, loose and somewhat in the way. The ensemble was complete with a pair of black tactical cargo pants that had a thigh holster with a pistol in its confines and a pair of black combat boots. The AA-12 Shotgun was held vertically upward in the man's right hand, the metal left arm at his side as he moved forward, the darkened shades looking right at him. _James, the Winter Soldier,_ Steve thought to himself as he saw the telltale sign of a red star on his metallic left shoulder, an old sign of the Soviet Union.

Beside him was a woman that the Captain recognized all too well, though only by identity. Long brunette hair swept past her ears and down her shoulders as the sight of a young adult woman walking besides the Winter Soldier pained Steve as he saw the sight of ice-blue eyes instead of green irises staring at him without a hint of emotion in either the eyes or the face that he had found himself admiring at first and dreaming of later on. Jessica Miriam Drew stalked next to James, with a menacing aire, wearing much of the same apparel as the man beside her; a black tactical vest for the torso that left the arms bare, black tactical cargo pants, and black combat boots. What was different about her was how much she had changed since he saw her last all those months ago before Jessica went to Camp Leary in Virginia to join the CIA. No longer was she a woman of average proportions, a modern-day woman who kept an eye on her weight to keep herself appealing without flaunting her body, soft and inviting in all the right spots but with a smile and a vitality that caught his breath in his throat whenever he looked at her. No, she was different now, and the sight of it had Steve's heart pained at the sight.

_Oh God, what have they done to you, Jess…_

What had once been the sight of a normal nineteen year old woman had evaporated to become what he saw in front of him. No longer did Jessica sport soft graceful limbs that appealed to men for their softness and grace. No, now her arms were lean and corded with muscles, easily larger and thicker than before with broad shoulder and seemingly a bit taller as well. Yet the biggest visible change that he could see were her forearms. Steve felt his blood run cold at the sight of her forearms, where green veins ran just under the surface of her taunt skin, visible through the flesh. They started somewhere near her elbows and ran down to her hands, almost like green webs decorating her arms. What had him staring was the fact that they were slightly _glowing_ with some sort of… energy, something within.

"Oh, honey…" Romanoff whispered at the same sight that he himself was seeing, her tone wounded, "…oh what did they do to you?" Neither one of them was enjoying the sight of what had been done to Jessica Drew; that young woman who had found herself a familial spot amongst the Avengers. She had been a young woman ready to embark on that next big adventure that would be her life, and it hadn't been subtle at all that the young woman had seen herself amongst the team and support members of the Avengers and had thought _I want to earn my way here_. The rest of the members of _Avengers, Incorporated_ had seen a college-bound young woman who had earned her scholarship in something she was passionate about, someone who looked up to her mother Jennifer Walters while looking out for her two younger sisters, and showed herself to be someone who was trying to find her way in doing things right. They had all been a little touched at the sight of Jenn's three daughters when they had first arrived, the girls being a little ecstatic at the sight of the men (and woman) who had defended Earth from the Chitauri. Yet Jessica had earned herself a little bit of her own place amongst them by asking good questions, helping out where she could, and getting into meaningful conversations with several of the members over the month and a half she had been at Stark Tower visiting.

It wasn't a stretch of the imagination to see those three young woman as a sort of future for the Avengers, the very thing that they were fighting for, but also something that they may one day look forward to; the next generation. Jessica had really endeared herself to the others. Surprisingly, Nat had become rather close with the young woman herself, doing workout routines with her and teaching her hand-to-hand routines in the morning. Steve had watched, giving advice to Jess when she struggled with some of the moves, showing her other methods, and helping her position and stance for the judo and ju jitsu moves she was learning, critiquing and complimenting when she performed, both Jessica and Nat enjoying the exercises and camaraderie.

But looking at Jessica now, whatever future they had once seen had been violently ripped away thanks to HYDRA.

"We separate them, we have a chance at freeing them." The Super Soldier reminded his counterpart as he held his shield in between himself and the threats in front of them as Steve saw the two Scepter-controlled individuals step out of the elevator without concern, walking forward a couple of steps before stopping in front of the elevator bay, the both of them focusing on Steve and Natasha. That's what they needed for them to do; focus on the obvious threat. Now it was his turn to really get there attention. "We didn't come here to hurt you." God, hopefully that sounded a good deal less cheesy than he thought it did. Even when he tried deepening his voice, his calls for surrender always sounded smarmy.

"We did." Jessica replied, her voice a little… off. Monotone, no real reflection to it. It was her voice but with what made it _her_ gone. Just something following orders and a script. The nineteen year old woman lifted a hand and raised it to them palm forward, Steve catching a glimpse of something on or perhaps _in_ the center of the palm of her hand, something like a green boil before it glowed brightly. He raised his shield as he heard a _vwhip!_ of sound and the smell of burning ozone as green electrical energy shot out towards him, striking his vibranium/steel alloy shield, the resulting strike creating a cascade of sparks reflecting off of the disk. James was moving forward, bringing his auto-shotgun to bear as Rogers pressed the yellow button beside his first knuckle on his left hand to activate the Funnel Effect in his glove as the Winter Soldier began firing at him with buckshot, the AA-12 capable of firing 12-gauge rounds at three rounds a second; more than enough to obliterate opposition at short range with its pellets and stopping power. The nine pellets of double-aught buckshot for each round fired sprayed down the corridor as Steve held his shield at shoulder level while ducking his head instinctively behind its protective cover, seeing Nat getting behind him in the corner of his right eye as the Funnel Effect veered the nine pellets of .33 caliber buckshot towards his shield with each shot fired, the assailant firing for five seconds, spraying the corridor with one-hundred and forty-one steel spheres traveling at thirteen hundred feet per second. Sparks and the sounds of ricochets were intermixed with the deafening sound of the auto-shotguns pulsing fire as the rounds were angled towards Captain America's iconic shield augmented by the power glove he wore, electromagnetic energy attracting metal objects towards the center of the convex disk.

After five seconds of firing fifteen round, the Winter Soldier ceased as Steve clicked off the Funnel Effect by pressing the yellow button by his knuckle again. _Thanks, Kamala_, Captain America thought as he looked over his shield to see the long-haired man in the tactical mask toss the weapon aside, obviously empty of rounds and less than effective in the man's mind.

"Subdue them. I will look for the others." Drew told her metal-armed companion as she turned to stalk down a different hallway while the Winter Solder loomed towards Captain America and the Black Widow, leaning forward as he began to rush towards them at a speed that exceeded that of even a good sprinter. The metal-armed man collided with Steve with a speed and force that had Rogers grunt from the impact as he used his shield to protect himself from the strike as his boots skidded against the linoleum floor of the underground complex by a foot or two as he felt arms encircling him to crush him. His arms were stuck behind his shield as it was pressed between them as he felt the arms wrap around his waist, forcing the breath out of him as the metal arm grinded into his flesh when an impact of flesh against flesh was heard that made the man drop Rogers as the assailant dropped to one knee, having received a kick to the back of the knee from Natasha, who was already moving forward with a knee thrust to his face as Steve prepared himself for a fight against the Winter Soldier.

* * *

Doctor Doreen Allene Green (DVM) exited her hiding spot in a bullrush as soon as she heard Clint Barton command '_go!_' with the twang of a bowstring punctuating the point.

The sight of her best friend, Jessica Miriam Drew, under the control of the Scepter had her heart skip a beat as the arrow that Hawkeye fired exploded into some sort of weird jelly-like substance that plastered itself all over the brunette's face as Doreen dashed right towards the young woman, Commander Nathaniel Troy Dugan right by her side along with Jessica Campbell Jones. Whatever the jelly-like substance was, it was adhering to Drew's face, forcing her to wipe her eyes clear as Doreen and Jones went for the limbs, their augmented strength to be used to take away Jessica's primary weapon; her green electrical discharges. As the strongest members of their five-man team and the only ones with enhancements, it made sense for both her and the private investigator to take the upper-hand and deny the nineteen-year old woman her most powerful capability. Being stuck in an underground facility would practically deny her ability to fly, so denying her the use of her electrical weapon would make her outnumbered and at a great disadvantage.

At least, that was the idea.

Jessica Jones quickly grabbed the left arm of Jessica Drew while Doreen grabbed the right, using both arms to keep the singular arm pinned by tucking it under one armpit and using her arms to lock it in, Jones doing so in a similar manner with the other arm. Nate was grabbing one of Drew's legs to hoist it up as the young woman struggled in her half-containment, lashing out with her feet as the Navy SEAL caught her right leg while Lieutenant Samuel Thomas Wilson grabbed her flailing left leg, the four of them bodily picking her up off the ground and holding her horizontally, their arms gripping her limbs tight as they apprehended her physically.

"Jesus, she's strong!" Jones called out, struggling to keep Jessica's left arm held as Sam and Nate took her thighs just above her knees into their arms, the HYDRA-controlled woman flailing her feet uselessly as she twisted her hips and flexed her legs to break free of the hold. Thankfully, the two normal men were able to hold her, but Drew was struggling hard to break free as she grunted and yelled savagely to force herself out of the trap. The private investigator hadn't been kidding about Jessica's strength; it was all Doreen could do to hold onto her best friends' arm as she tried to rip it out of the Veterinarians' hold.

"Clint! We need a knock-out punch!" Green called out, remembering how she had been the recipient of such a blow from the archer who had managed to defeat not one but _three_ enhanced individuals with a rather anachronistic weapon if truth be told. Doreen couldn't think of anyone who would willing use a bow and arrow _in combat_ when firearms were available, but the archer had certainly showed the Doctor that her opinion only applied to most people; he was most obviously the exception. Hawkeye was already pulling out another arrow (God, was he going to shoot her right there with something!) when Jessica curled up slightly and let out a defiant scream as everything exploded green.

Doreen wondered for a moment why she was looking at a ceiling. She blinked several times and realized that she was lying on her back and felt like she had been fried.

_I think Jessica just flash-fried us_, the Veterinarian thought as she slowly stumbled upward, seeing that the others were incapacitated, their bodies strewn about in the corridor as Jessica Drew stood there, looking a little wobbly for a second before moving over to where Jessica Jones laid, reaching down to grab the investigators' ankle to start dragging her away towards the elevator. _Wait… NO!_ The Doctor got onto her feet, still feeling like barbecue as she moved forward, her stumbling brain making sense of what she saw. Doreen bolted forward on tingling legs as she pounced forward, dropping onto all fours and bounding forward like a feline as she pounced upon her best friend, tackling her with her shoulder in a classic football tackle, making the nineteen-year old woman fall to the ground, releasing Jones' ankle as they tumbled to the ground with Jessica Drew below the Veterinarian. _I'm going to rescue you,_ Doreen thought as she pulled herself up, seeing the ice-blue eyes of the photographer underneath her, _and I'm certainly not going to let you bring anyone else to be _warped_ by that damn Scepter!_ The auburn-haired woman's hands clutched at the tactical vest that Drew wore as the Doctor got on her feet and used her augmented strength to bodily haul her best friend upward and careening to a wall, Jessica's back hitting the drywall hard enough to splinter it as the younger woman's bare hands gripped Doreen's wrists painfully.

Fuck, she had forgotten that Jessica was actually stronger than her.

Green's hands were slowly pulled away from Jessica's vest, her grip failing to hold on as the Veterinarian gasped from the pain in her wrist bones as she felt them grind from Drew's grip as the controlled woman pulled her hands away and aside before releasing one wrist quickly and delivering a sledgehammer-like blow to the Doctor's sternum, knocking her across the hall and practically half-embedding her into the opposite wall as Doreen coughed, almost losing her breath from the blow as she pulled herself from out of the wall, drywall and plaster cascading from her back and the hole she had made as she landed on her feet.

"Guess asking nicely is going to be out of the question." The auburn-haired woman said huskily as she let her fingernails extend outward, now two inches in length as Doreen felt it; that shift, that _change_, that thing that was within her ever since she had broken out of that shell after being injected with some foreign material and dosed with some noxious-smelling gas. She hadn't wanted to tell or show the others, but she knew it would eventually come to light, what she was truly capable of.

She was only half as capable in her human form, after all.

Doctor Doreen Green hissed as she felt her body ache and tense as muscles tightened and popped as she felt her gums bleed as her upper and lower canine teeth extended outward as her upper lip grew puffier and split slightly at the middle, her cheekbones pressed outward and her ears grew taller and pointer. Muscles in her chest and back bunched up and swelled as she became more lean and graceful, her body shifting towards something more streamline, something more… feline as she reached behind her to rip a tear in the upper portion of the back of her pants to free the growing nub that was extending from her tailbone as a long prehensile protrusion grew long and sinewy. Tabby-like fur tuffed from her arms at first, more short hair exploding from her skin as she lowered herself in a semi-crouch, feeling the arches of her feet growing longer as her heels went higher, becoming digitigrade. The pupils of her hazel eyes grew ovaloid at first before points became more apparent at the tops and bottoms, growing a slitted appearance as long whiskers began to extend from above her swollen upper lip and raise cheekbones as she hissed and hackled in warning, baring her feline-like teeth as she moved like a panther stalking its prey, circling the woman in front of her as her three-foot cat-like tail swished angrily as Jessica moved in a circular fashion, her forearms already beginning to glow green with electrical build-up as Doreen shifted fully into her werecat form, possessing the traits of the lethal grace of a creature of the felinoid kingdom.

Jessica raised her arm to blast her silly with her lightning, but Doctor Green was much faster than that now.

The shifted Veterinarian pounced forward, covering the distance between them in a quick bound as she dodged slightly to the right to miss being zapped as she impaled Drew's left shoulder with the claws of her right hand, the nails easily sinking in and embedding themselves into the younger woman's shoulder as her left hand caught Jessica's right wrist, capturing it to prevent the controlled woman from hitting her with her bio-electricity. Jessica grunted as her left hand grabbed at Doreen's right forearm, attempting to pull her claws from out of her shoulder as they spun and struggled in a circling dance of attempted dominance as the Doctor's hackles raised and she hissed in anger, struggling to hold Drew's right arm while fighting against her left one from pulling out as they pushed forward against one another, Doreen's digitigrade legs pushing harder than they would have if they had been in their normal plantigrade configuration, matching the strength of Jessica Drew's greater strength. Doreen twisted to one side to gain the advantage as the claws of her left hand dug into Jessica's wrist as she gripped it, pushing forward to slam the brunette's back into a wall, the sound of breaking drywall accompanying the sound. She then pivoted and thrusted herself forward to slam Jessica into the opposing wall, the extended nails in her right hand gripping the flesh of Drew's shoulder for purchase as the wall buckled from the impact as ice-blue eyes stared at her with intent.

It was Jessica Drew's turn to thrust her backwards, and Doreen found herself being slammed through a wall and onto her back in the room beyond it.

The cat-like Doreen coughed from the dust and debris of the shattered drywall and cotton-candy pink fiberglass insulation as she laid on her back with the nineteen-year old on top of her in the low mount position, the younger woman's legs straddling her waist as she held onto Doreen. The Veterinarian grunted as she lifted both of her legs while pushing Jessica backwards, her claws coming out of the other womans' shoulder as she looped her ankles in front of Drew's face, bringing her legs and the woman down as the lightning-wielding woman was forced onto her back with a slam. Green sat up and forced her opponent to buckle in half as she returned the mount position, but containing Jessica's legs in her arms as she stood up and spun, hoisting the woman in the air as she twirled once before releasing her best friend to crash her into a series of metal filing cabinets, buckling the standing containers with the force as the woman landed on her front after slamming into the filing cabinets, getting up on her hands and knees to rise to her feet as the cat-like woman crouched at the ready, determined to pounce forward but able to leap to the side if necessary.

Instead of walking towards her, Jessica _flew_ at her in a tackle.

Electrical discharge propelled the young woman faster than Doreen had expected, and both women ended up in an adjoining room after the Doctor broke a wall with her back again, the both of them tumbling in another office as she painfully got onto her knees and elbows, wincing in pain as she spat out bloody spittle past her cat-like lips and fanged teeth, her slitted hazel eyes turning to see Jessica Drew already on her feet, her forearms pulsing with green energy as she raised a green boil-centered palm to zap her.

_Sorry, Jess, I tried_, the cat-like woman thought as she yowled in pained protest, unable to speak. _I forgive you_, Doreen thought as she saw the boil in the center of Jessica's right hand glow, knowing what would come next.

Except that Jessica Drew was bodily thrown through one wall and slammed into another hard across the hallway, falling a few feet to the ground onto her chest.

"Bitch, that's enough out of you." Jessica Campbell Jones said as she stood in front of Doreen, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the Doctor as Green looked right back. "Jesus, no one told me you could turn into a weretabby." The private investigator said as she looked at the ground below the Veterinarian, no doubt seeing the blood she had spat out. "You rest up, Doc. It's my turn.

"I've got to plug me an electrical socket."

* * *

Natasha Alianovna Romanoff dashed forward and ducked into a ninja roll to avoid getting kicked in the abdomen by an enhanced assassin as a leg went to snap kick her in the guts as a metal arm flew forward to deflect a red-gloved fist from hitting the face of the Winter Soldier as Captain Steve Rogers continued to press the attack while Nat got back on her booted feet behind the metal-armed man and spun into a spinning back kick to strike at a kidney to degrade physical movement when the masked man turned to block and grab her ankle with his flesh arm, twisting it to where the redhead had to flip herself over to keep her ankle from being broken as the man blocked a blow from Captain America's vibranium-and-steel shield with his metal arm at the same time, as vicious a combatant as she had ever fought. And she fought Steve in training. _A lot_.

The two Avengers continued to press the Winter Soldier as Nat's flip reversed itself as she launched her foot towards James' right elbow to disable it and strike at the several nerve points there not only so he could release her foot, but also take out an arm and further disable him as he wrenched her foot up while blocking another strike by Steve and returning with a jab of his own with his metal arm, blocked by the round disk shield as Natasha was physically picked up off the ground by the long-haired man, dangling upside down. She saw one of his feet and decided to return the favor by grabbing the ankle of his support foot while folding herself in half; pulling with her hands while trying to touch her toes. The unexpected move had the Soldier lose contact with the ground with his back foot, almost stumbling forward as Rogers belted him with a meaty fist with a right hook to the short ribs at his unprotected flank, nearly folding the assassin as James let go of Natasha's ankle, dropping the Black Widow. Romanoff landed in an acrobatic way, rolling from mid-back to shoulders as her hands went above her head to press themselves onto the floor as she curled her legs, bringing her knees nearly to her face as she flipped herself up onto her feet in a ready position as she saw Captain America and the Winter Soldier still battling hard, metal arm and metal shield clanging in both assault and defense as flesh limbs moved to strike and protect as Nat reached behind her back to grab her two retractable batons holstered past her shoulders, pulling them out and flicking her wrists to extend them as she moved forward, seeking to strike the assassin in the most ironic location possible; a strike to the back.

The two metal batons hit the upper cervical spine of the Winter Soldier, where the fifth cervical bone and a major nerve cluster was as Natasha bent forward to make an arch as the assassin, slightly arched back from her strike, received an opportune hit from Steve Rogers' right fist to his protected face as the Soldier stumbled back to fall, landing on Romanoff's prepared back as she leapt straight up to slam their opponent into the ceiling before twisting her body so she landed on top of him while he came crashing onto the linoleum floor.

She didn't even see the metal fist that boxed her ear, and that was saying something. Felt like a truck hit her skull.

The redhead blinked several times as the corridor swam in her vision, struggling to get up as a mostly-blue blur fought against a mostly-black one, the clang of metal and the pounding of flesh distorted in her ears, as if listening to a fight underwater. The Black Widow got up on unsteady feet, her hands empty of her batons as her eyesight sharpened rapidly, seeing Steve and the one known as James still fighting as Rogers took a low kick to the back of one thigh and a hard shin to the opposite side in his ribs, bringing the Captain down to one knee as he wrestled for his shield, the Winter Soldier having the outer edges of the disk in his hands, trying to rip it out of the WWII Veteran's grasp as Steve's right hand gripped his left forearm to keep the assassin from obtaining it while taking blows. Nat ran forward and used the kneeling Captain as a pommel horse as she mounted his shoulders with her hands and swept her legs around and over the contested shield to give the protected jaw a swift kick to the face as she twirled, her hands moving to opposite shoulders as she spun like an acrobatic top, her opposite foot clipping the Soldiers' right temple, sending him reeling as he let go of the shield and staggered back a foot or two, his head jerking back to look at them with malevolent intensity.

Nat had kicked the protective goggles off, and she saw a pair of familiar ice-blue eyes staring at her. There was something about them that seemed… familiar. She couldn't put her finger on it.

Steve moved forward, launching himself from his kneeling position in a brazen shield thrust, charging ahead with his disk as a battering ram as he impaled the assassin on its smooth surface, hitting him in the gut and pushing him back several feet as Romanoff moved right behind the Captain, leaping over him to deliver a spinning back kick to their opponent's face. The long-haired man jerked back, causing her to miss as Nat practically landed in the man's arms, her thighs landing on his shoulders as she crossed her ankles and rotated her upper body in a counterclockwise motion, a surefire way for a person of less mass to take down a bigger opponent with momentum, inertia, and gravity. Unfortunately, she felt a pair of hands grabbing her hips and turning her so when she spun down at the lower arc of her Lucho Libre move, she was bodily tossed off and sent sailing into a door frame, striking the wooden frame and falling to the ground in a body-jarring thud. She was grunting in pain as she watched Steve throw his shield at the Soldier in a semi-detached manner, seeing the metal arm raise to deflect it as it flew away somewhere as Rogers and the Soldier rushed forward to start battering one another with fists, elbows, knees, and feet. Nat got up, coughing up a little blood as she put her feet under her and moved forward as she watched the long-haired man grab the back of Steve's head and slam his face into his rising knee, sending Rogers back, the Captain falling on his back in a dazed stupor as Natasha pressed a button at her wrist as she moved forward to engage the Winter Soldier.

What the long-haired man hadn't been expecting was for her Widow's Web to pull Captain America's shield to her, the rim of the circular object to strike him in the back of the head.

_Thank Kamala later_, the Black Widow thought as one hand snagged the shield while her right fist belted a hard hook to the man's chin, twisting him from the impact as she spun and used the shield's edge to crack him against the side of his head. Sending him to one knee, Natasha shoved her left arm into the shield's handles as she delivered a snap kick to his head from the opposite side, his lowered head snapping back from the force of her foot as he staggered upward and backwards as Romanoff took a step forward and launched herself into a spinning back kick into his diaphragm, knocking him back several more feet as she pressed the advantage. Natasha leapt up and forward as she cocked back her left arm and thrusted Captain America's shield in a Superman Punch while using the disk as a melee weapon to strike the assassin on his forehead, making him stumble backwards in a semi-drunken manner as the Black Widow jumped up into the air to execute a Muay Thai strike known as 'Knight Throwing An Axe' to crack her elbow right at the crown of her assailants' skull for a knock-out blow.

Something hot exploded in the middle of Romanoff's back, blasting her forward and landing her in a crumpled heap of twitching, unresponsive limbs as agony crawled through her nervous system from an electrical blast as Cap's shield slid away from her grasp.

_Jessica._

Nat found herself somewhat looking down the hallway as Jessica Miriam Drew sauntered down the corridor dragging something in one hand, a black leather jacket in her clutches; Jessica Jones unconscious and in her grasp. The Winter Soldier had finally collapsed to the ground, eyes closed and unresponsive as the young woman walked towards her while dragging an unconscious Jones with ease, the private investigator's body dragging along the ground without any bodily resistance. Nat moaned as she struggled to move, seeing Steve struggling to rise from the ground as well as the Black Widow saw Jessica's right forearm beginning to glow with internally-produced green energy traveling down from her elbow to her wrist as she raised her hand up in a 'stop' fashion to show off a green boil at the center of her palm as it, too, began to glow.

_Фуцк__. __Фуцк__. __Фуцк__. __Фуцк__. __Фуцк__._

Then Nat was shocked to see Drew's head snapped hard to the left, a look of wild confusion on her youthful face as she looked at the proned Widow at her feet, only for her head to be snapped just as hard in the opposite direction.

_What in the fuck?_

Jessica Jones' body was dropped to the ground unceremoniously as the altered woman looked around, both of her arms glowing as she buckled in the middle from some unseen blow before her head snapped back up as if she had been uppercutted, knocking her back a couple of steps. Nat had no idea what the hell was going on as she struggled to stand, her limbs not cooperating as she watched, with utter amazement, _something_ swell into human shape and size to deliver a roundhouse kick to the controlled woman before seemingly disappearing from view…

Romanoff could have swore she had just seen a woman in a suit _grow_ and then _shrink_ in the blink of an eye.

Drew fired off a blast of green electrical energy down the hall where she had been attacked, only to get knocked forward by the new opponent, making the young woman whirl to engage… nothing. Then Natasha watched in shock as Jessica's left arm went violently behind her for no apparent reason, twisting up and behind her back in a classic Greco-Roman wrestling move before the figure of a full-sized suited woman with four gossamer-like wings protruding from her suit reappeared to deliver a swift soccer kick to Drew's abdomen before zapping back down to… minuscule size. The twisted arm went further behind the HYDRA-controlled woman's back, bodily flipping the woman up and over an unseen pivot point to crash her face-first into the linoleum floor with a healthy smack, getting the nineteen-year old woman to grunt from the force. Steve was finally getting to his feet, pressing something on his left glove as his shield came back to him, Cap looking a little wobbly with blood running down his nose and mouth as Jessica Drew pushed herself off of the ground, looking _pissed_.

"Cap!" Nat croaked, her body feeling like barbecue. "Look out!"

Jessica fired another volley of green lightning at Steve Rogers, who tucked himself behind his shield as the current splashed over its convex surface, spraying around him as Drew's extended arm was yanked to one side before the appearance of the suited woman showed up once more, literally mounting the younger woman's arm above it as her weight caused Jessica to lose her balance as the unknown woman thrusted herself downward into a roll that had Jessica being slammed onto her back hard, her arm held in an arm-bar by the full-sized suited woman. Green energy glowed in Drew's captured arm as she tried to fire at the woman pinning her, but the suited woman immediately shrank down to size to avoid being blasted by her electrical discharge, freeing Jessica from the pin. The younger woman got up to her feet, looking wild as her ice-blue eyes looked at the standing Steve Rogers, the unconscious Winter Soldier, the still-grounded Widow, the unconscious Jessica Jones, and then the corridor that led back to the elevator. She pivoted and twisted to avoid a flying projectile as an arrow flew just past her face, exploding into some white powder as Clint Barton came back into the game from whatever happened before. Then Romanoff was shocked to see a human-sized _feline_ pounce forward, intending to tackle Jessica Drew as the woman leapt up and _stuck_ herself to the ceiling with her hands and feet, literally hanging off of it. By her hands and feet alone.

_That's new._

Jessica grunted as something hit her in the belly hard, no doubt the minuscule warrioress as Drew launched herself forward from the ceiling and took flight straight forward towards the elevator, landing inside of the car before twisting around to look back down the corridor at the Avengers, ice-blue eyes _furious_ as she leapt upward and plowed through the metal ceiling of the elevator car, taking flight through the vertical shaft to escape.

"Jess…" Steve called out belatedly as the large tabby-human… thing yowled mournfully, sitting on its haunches as its feline head turned to look at Nat, and the redhead saw slitted but recognizable hazel eyes on the auburn-colored shorthair… weretabby. It was the only thing she could think of.

"D-Doreen." Romanoff struggled to get up, Rogers giving her a hand by gently picking her up under her arm pit, her legs a little unsteady as she made her way to the human-sized anthro-feline. "Are you okay, Doctor?" The felinoid face just looked at her, the tail that she had swishing… mournfully. Nat resisted the urge to pet her. "Can you… change back? Is that okay to ask?" The large feline got up and walked towards the nearest room, the tail swishing once as if to say 'no following' before disappearing inside. Romanoff steadied herself against the nearest wall, feeling frazzled and charred as she heard slight moans and grunts of pain and… something cracking and popping, like knuckles cracking as gasps of pain were accompanied with it. The Widow looked to Captain Rogers, who took off his helmet, his blond hair a sweaty mess as the front of his face looked like a bloody waterfall as he looked to the room with concern. They hadn't known about that particular ability of Doctor Green's, and likely the woman wasn't exactly thrilled with it. A moment later, Doctor Doreen Green came stumbling out of the room, clutching her side and looking as if she had gotten the shit kicked out of her. Hell, they all had. Nat moved forward to help the Veterinarian, whose hazel eyes looked at her with worry and conflict.

"It's okay, Doreen." Romanoff said softly as she helped the auburn-haired woman steady herself. "What do you need?"

"Food, water, sleep." She croaked in reply, looking as if she had just finished an ultramarathon, looking very pale and in considerable pain. "Broke a few rooms facing Jessica after she zapped us all. Jones got the shit clobbered out of her, too, though she fared better than I did. Watched that girl punch Drew through two rooms and a bunch of clutter." Nat looked at the unconscious private detective, whose face was bruised and bloodied. "I don't think she knows how to fight. Never had to, I think." Doreen informed Natasha, the Widow nodding in understanding. The corridor became the host of someone else as the unknown suited woman enlarged into existence once more, her helmeted head disguising her features, though it looked insect-like in appearance as the four gossamer wings draped downward.

"_Tried following her, but she flew too fast for me."_ The woman said through her helmet, panting a little. _That voice…_ Nat thought to herself as she looked at the woman in question.

"Hope?"

A gloved hand went to the side of her neck as the helmet split open three ways; top, left, and right. Each retracted backwards to reveal the face of a thirty-two year old brunette-haired woman who was slightly sweaty, but smiling a little as Natasha recognized the face of _Avengers, Incorporated's_ Chief Financial Officer, Hope Van Dyne.

"Thought you could use a _little_ help." The CFO said with a quick wink. "Jenn called Dad and I when you guys were flying over the Pacific, and we made arrangements to get here as soon as we could. Glad we did." She looked around at the ruined hall and that fact that some of their members weren't even conscious. "Jesus, my Dad told me stories about HYDRA, but I wasn't expecting anything like this."

"None of us were." Captain Rogers replied as he moved to the downed Winter Soldier, still unconscious and splayed out on the floor. Nat was already moving towards Steve as she got on the other side of the unconscious assassin as Clint loomed close by, a nocked arrow in his bow as he gave a nod indicating he was ready as the redhead took a knee to open up one of the man's eyelids.

"Brown eyes." Romanoff confirmed, remember seeing the ice-blue color of one controlled by the Scepter. "Seems this wasn't a complete lost if we're winnowing their numbers. What do we do with him?"

"Detain him for now until he wakes up and we can determine where he stands." Steve replied, wiping the bloody smear from his face. "He might want to take a crack at HYDRA, and he certainly has the skills to put forth the effort if he's interested. Take off his mask and bind him up." Nat was already nodding in compliance as she peeled the protective face mask off the man to find what looked to be a rather young-looking man with about a weeks' worth of stubble on his cheeks and chin. Yet she heard a sucking breath that had her looking to Captain Steve Rogers, who looked… haunted.

"It… it can't be." He said softly, almost looking as if he were going to collapse as Nat looked back at the man, the sense of familiarity returning. She was good with faces, and she was certain she had seen this man… somewhere…

"Oh my God…" Hope said, standing behind Natasha as she, too, was looking at the man in question. "I… I thought he was dead."

"You know James?" Doctor Doreen Green asked as she limped over, wincing as she did so, looking to the others. "I mean, you recognize him?"

"I do." Steve replied, and Natasha Romanoff felt very uneasy about that. How would Steve Rogers and Hope Van Dyne know the same person when they were born decades apart?

"…it's _Bucky_."

* * *

_FINE - ARC V: Of Traitors And Assassins_

* * *

**ARC VI: By Our Powers Combined**

**Boeing C-17 Globemaster III "**_**Gungnir**_**", Pennsylvania Airspace, En-route From New Jersey To Maryland, December 10, 2012**

Staff Sergeant James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes (SSG, US Army, KIA…-ish) was rotating his flesh-and-blood wrist as the handcuffs were taken off, mostly a symbolic gesture considering, as Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq., (CEO, Avengers) stood in front of the seated World War Two Veteran that was miraculously alive sixty-seven years after his reported death. _God, had he been in HYDRA hands the _whole_ time?_, Jenn thought to herself with a shiver, seeing the face of a man who looked _younger_ than her but was actually sixty-one years _older_. She had asked a few questions to the Staff Sergeant, finding him to be cognitive if a bit confused on a few things, gaps in his memories and seriously asked what year it happen to be _now_. Seeing the man in front of her broke her heart; this had been a heroic legend who was held in the same esteem as his best friend, Captain Steven Grant Rogers, a man _she_ had learned of from her own father when she was a little girl. Now he sat in front of her, alive and… well, alive at least. And no longer under HYDRA's control. That was a start.

"We swept as much of that bunker as we could in the time that we had." Commander Nathaniel Troy Dugan told her as Doctor Henry Jonathan 'Hank' Pym performed a medical assessment with the medical suite that was installed on the Boeing C-17 Globemaster III "_Gungnir_" on their only 'qualified' medical person, Doctor Doreen Allene Green having completely lost consciousness after turning into, of all things, a human-sized cat-person that evidently took a lot out of her as well as the beating she had taken. Practically every one of the Avengers had suffered some injury, though Captain Steven Grant Rogers and Natasha Alianovna Romanoff had quickly recovered from their ordeal fighting Bucky Barnes and Jessica Miriam Drew. Jessica Campbell Jones had suffered the second-worst amount of injuries, her faced bruised, bloody, and swollen, yet already she looked as if it had been days ago instead of two hours. Her comment on _the first time in my life I've ever gotten my ass kicked_ showed that the woman never been in a serious fight before despite the fact that she seemed to be on par for strength with Jenn's daughter. That… scared the lawyer. _What did they do to you, honey?_ "We didn't find any indication of where SHIELD or HYDRA or who the fuck ever might have moved their central data collection point. Kamala's on the right path, just ended up a bust."

"Yeah." They were back at square one; five days before a potential HYDRA takeover, and they had no idea where to go or how to stop it. Kamala Aisha Khan and Edward Joseph Snowden were plowing through the information the former NSA hacker had taken while at Kunia Tunnel in Hawaii while working for Booz Allen Hamilton, but there was twenty-five _terabytes_ of information and they were running out of time. Walters was looking around the cargo bay of the _Gungnir_ seeing _her_ team rocked back on their heels; she had time, money, technology, and effort training to be better than anything possible for the day when something like this came. And they had _lost_.

The Avengers had months to prepare. HYDRA… had years. Plus the ability to make enhanced individuals with one-hundred percent loyalty thanks to the Scepter.

"Miss Walters?" Kamala had come down from the loft with a StarkTab in hand with Edward Snowden, the fifteen-year old looking dejected. "Mister Snowden and I have gone through a great deal of search perimeters looking for possible locations or hints for a central location that he found in the data. But we're not finding a physical location. It might be a possibility that he doesn't actually have it or it's information that's only kept word-of-mouth to prevent electronic sabotage or counterintelligence." The young Pakistani-American woman's face said it all; she felt like a failure unable to identify the one thing the needed. Snowden had the grimace of a man frustrated, an electronic spy who couldn't find that one clue.

"Alright, we'll go back to the drawing board and see if we can think of possibilities or eliminate others for possible locations for this HYDRA AI or the possible data cache-"

"Wait, what did you say?"

Everyone turned to look at Bucky Barnes, who was looking at Jennifer oddly, his head slightly cocked as if he hadn't heard her right.

"We were looking for a central location where we think HYDRA is storing all of its intercepted electronic data…" The lawyer began until she was interrupted again.

"You're looking for ZOLA." The metal-armed man spoke, rising up from his seat as he looked… different, changed. Something was waking up within him, and his brown eyes were _alive_. "The HYDRA Mainframe that's the brainchild of Doctor Armin Zola."

"Wait. Isn't that the guy…" Clinton Francis Barton looked over to Captain Rogers, who nodded slowly. "Jesus, please do not tell me that _Hitler_ managed to fucking survive and is running around somewhere. Though I'll put an arrow in that bastard with a smile." Natasha shooshed the archer as Jennifer looked at the cybernetically-armed Super Soldier in front of her, focusing on him.

"You know where it is?" Jenn asked, her heart racing in her chest. _God, if Bucky's been in HYDRA all these years… he might know the very locations we need!_

"Yeah, I do. I was there… I think it was about four months ago." Barnes replied, slowly nodding his head. "They drove me right through the front gate of the government installation it was in, so I saw the main gate, the entrance, the sign… I walked right in with a suit and a pass and was led right in protecting some Pennsylvanian Senator that's been with HYDRA for years. Part of… some sub-committee. Threats and Capabilities, I think?"

"Senator Gerald Stern." Jennifer Walters guessed, having looked up that name earlier on the PROJECT: INSIGHT hit list. His name hadn't been included. "The asshole that wanted to take Tony Stark's suits a couple of years back." If she had been Tony's lawyer back then, the man would have ended up on the street with a tin cup for donations when she got done with him. _Hand over your multi-million dollar suits with its Nextgen power supply and fighter jet capabilities without reimbursement or one thought for the Constitution my ass_, the lawyer thought with a snarl, remembering that particular public debacle where the billionaire pretty much told a Congressional Sub-Committee to kiss his ass with a smile. Pure Tony.

"I don't know about the… suit thing," the long-haired man said, shaking his head slightly in confusion, "but the name's right. Had to escort the guy right into a central room that had some pretty heavy security in it that we had to pass through. I'm talking some rather ridiculous security and protection. More advanced than anything I've seen, and… I've seen a lot." Barnes eyes grew distant, no doubt plagued by some of that _a lot_ he was recollecting.

"You're not walking in through the front door, hacking or accessing something with all the electronic turnstiles, cameras, motion detectors, security, and equipment." The ninety-three year old man explained. "Even with proper access, it took us… thirty minutes to get into what he called 'the Vault', which was a large room containing the ZOLA Mainframe and the main access computer. The things they had protecting it was unreal. Temperature gages, pressure sensors, thermal imaging equipment, audio detectors… the works. It was in some old building built before the War, supposedly shut down but it kept serving its original purpose as HYDRA supposedly kept upgrading it right underneath everyone's noses…"

"_OH MY GOD! I'LL BE RIGHT BACK!_" Kamala squealed as she dashed towards the loft, running up the flight of stairs cackling in delight.

"So, this location?" Jennifer asked the Super Soldier.

"It's in DC. Front door sign called it '_awnee_'." James replied, looking to the lawyer, who shook her head, not getting it. "O.N.I." Bucky repeated himself by spelling it, getting nothing but blank stares.

"The Office of Naval Intelligence!" Kamala came running back down with something bundled in her arms, practically sprinting down the stairs as she rejoined the group, everyone's attention on her. "I chuckled when I saw the acronym earlier because I recognized it from a video game, the _Halo_ series, but it was a legitimate US Government agency prior, during, and after World War II where Naval signal interceptors and Army Air Force spy planes would gather intelligence and report it back to the nations' _first_ foreign intelligence-gathering operation in the post-war years. I looked it up and it makes perfect sense since ONI was shut down in 1954 for its modern-day successor. But they _never_ shut it down!" The young woman's face was all aglow with glee as everyone looked at her. "It's been gathering every piece of data for the past _sixty-six_ years while pretending to be an old government building that was a host to a now-defunct government agency! A location unclaimed by any component of the government, meant to collect and store data, supposedly unused and abandoned for _decades_ with everyone none the wiser! It _fits_!" The fifteen-year old smiled triumphantly.

"By our powers combined, we're breaking into the original CIA!" Kamala proclaimed with a raised fist in the air.

Everyone looked at one another, and then the rather elated fifteen-year old tech prodigy.

"Okay, so why did you run to the loft and grab… whatever that is?" Hope Van Dyne asked, looking at the bundle in the young woman's arms that looked to be a couple of straight bars and a pair of… wires? Kamala just grinned even bigger as she grabbed the top and unrolled the device to show off what was a wire harness suspension rig that was most recognizable for use for Hollywood stuntmen performing feats of acrobatics no normal man could perform. "Alright… what's that for?" Hope wondered out loud. Jenn was thinking the same thing.

"I thought you'd never ask." Khan replied with an impish smile as she began to '_bomp-bomp, de-da-bomp-bomp, do-dum_' a tune that once came from a television series from the mid-60's and later a series of movies involving a man named Ethan Hunt that had everyone groaning.

She was singing the soundtrack to _Mission: Impossible_.

* * *

Author's Notes: Fuck yes Hope van Dyne to the rescue!

I know some of you probably wanted to see the Jessica vs. Jessica fight, but I thought it would be better to have Jones lose off-screen while Cap and Widow got a beatdown by Bucky. Nat almost won that fight, though. Normally I don't have 'last-minute rescues' but I went off-script off my own path because a) sometimes it's good to be king and b) Hope is going to be a legit Avenger (which many of you probably saw coming considering Hope and Hank are in _Avengers, Inc._ anyhow) as well as a part of my AU of CA:WS.

The Atchisson Assault Shotgun (known as the AA-12) can be seen in movies such as what Hail Caesar carries in _The Expendables_ and Adrian Brody's character (Dwight?) carries in _Predators_. It is a rather boxy-looking weapon with few protrusions, heavy, and probably a nightmare to reload in combat. Yet in short-range firefights or inside a building, it's probably extremely devastating. Having carried a shotgun myself on many missions in Iraq and Afghanistan, I know the difference between what the movies say and what happens in real life when using a shotgun. It's still a mainstay for firepower and a favorite of law enforcement agencies for a good reason, as the nine pellets in double-aught ('00') buckshot are driven by a great deal of powder, and the force is more than enough to splinter and shatter two-by-fours in close range, breech doors, clear hallways, and injure several people at once in the right situations. Plus that classic sound of the pump-action really is a showstopper; clack that sucker back and forth to remind home invaders that size really does matter.

Yes, I turned Doreen into a weretabby… thing. There were a few mutants who did shapeshift into more animal-like beings (both Wolfsbane/Rahne Sinclair and Feral/Maria Callasantos had lycanthropic-like traits). Considering that someone in Marvel thought having a half-squirrel/half-girl that could defeat Thanos with the squirrelpocalypse, pick up Mjolnir, beat up Doctor Doom, and do it while being 'cute', I decided to make her a little more feral.

I don't know the actual 'martial art' that one sees Scarlett Johannsen use in the movies, but considering much of the rotating throws I've seen is used in Mexican Wrestling known as 'Lucho Libre' (most especially with Rey Mysterio), I went with the variant of the corkscrew spin throw that one sees her perform in the movies. It could be Wing Chung as well, or even Escrema.

_Фуцк_ \- Jersey, you potty mouth, you. This is, in Russian Cyrillic, the letters 'f', 'u', 'c', and 'k'. : ) I don't know if this is the actual Russian word for 'fuck' though.

Yes, the name of the next ARC is a reference from _Captain Planet_. #GoPlanet!

ONI is, in fact, a real agency in the United States Government (that does in fact mean the Office of Naval Intelligence) and is the original American foreign intelligence agency (created in 1882) responsible for maritime intelligence and naval capabilities. What I wrote for the chapter is actually inaccurate on purpose as I'm not going to tell you how to break into an intelligence community building. That's just bad juju.

Yes, I referenced the first _Mission: Impossible_ movie with Tom Cruise.

Prepare for the impossible! This chapter will self-destruct in five seconds…


	26. By Our Powers Combined, I

_#HailToTheKing, #WakandaForever_

Author's Note: Due to real life, plus COVID, and the MCU finally getting around to making a real _She-Hulk_ live-action anything (proposed even back in 1990 with the made-for-television movie _The Death of the Incredible Hulk_), I'm going to get back to this story and give to you what I promised; a worthy story. Considering I'm the only thing in the MCU Fanfic with Jenn Walters (there are small things, but I'm the only heavyweight), I think I have an obligation to try and outdo Disney+. They'll win (it's _Disney_, after all), but if the Red Sox can beat the Yankees, maybe I can stand a chance?

You'd think after a _year_, I'd have written something more, but with the exception of a few notes, a few outlines, and about two chapters worth of goop, I'm starting fresh with this arc.

This chapter is dedicated to the late-and-great Chadwick Aaron Boseman, who lost his years-long battle to colon cancer on Friday, August 28, 2020 at the young age of 43. For those who looked up to him, he set a standard of dignity and professionalism. It occurs to me that he was doing movies while either in remission or fighting that good fight. An Alumni of Howard University (in DC) with a BFA in directing, Chadwick and several classmates attended the Oxford Mid-Summer Program British American Drama Academy in London (which was funding by Denzel Washington!). Playing in television roles (such as _Lincoln Heights_), Chadwick wrote theater plays and taught acting at the Schomburg Center in Harlem. Chadwick's silver screen breakthrough role was _42_, portraying Jackie Robinson in a well-written role that highlighted the difficulties and struggles of that feat, as well as the kind of man that would be needed to accomplish it. For a man whose contemporaries and critics had nothing to say but praise for his personality, work ethic, and humor, Chadwick Boseman has been honored by many who have worked alongside him, remembered as the man he should be remembered as; as an artist as well as an inspiration for his generation and the next.

He is survived by his wife, Taylor Ledward.

* * *

**ARC VI: BY OUR POWERS COMBINED**

**WNOW Studios, Hudson Square, Manhattan, New York City, New York, December 13, 2012**

_-2 Days before __**Rot Schrader**__ deadline_

_RJ: Good morning, everyone! This is Rick Jones with the Rick Jones Show on WNOW, and with me always is the lovely Sarah Shane. Today we're going to talk about the absolute _insanity_ that's been going on ever since Monday hit. If you've been living under a rock for the past three days, here's a recap. _

_RJ: Following the assassination of billionaire Tony Stark by what appeared to be three US Army Apache Helicopters on Monday afternoon, we've been getting reports and calls from Capitol Hill for the cessation and annulment of what the world knows as the _Avengers_ from members of Congress for, and I kid you not, harboring a supposed _known traitor_ as well as a _known terrorist_; two different people. There are also claims from different sectors, and I'm still trying to wrap my brain around this one, that _Captain America_ is, in fact an impostor and publicity stunt! A few members of Congress and their offices are calling for the man who is wearing Cap's uniform to be ascertained if he really is the legendary World War Two Veteran and hero. _

_RJ: To top that off, we have various media sources who are trying to figure out what the eff is going on finding out that the Government is claiming that Natasha Romanoff is an _active_ KGB Agent and an illegal immigrant, that someone is pushing the American Bar Association to revoke Jenn Walter's license to practice law, and that Clint Barton is wanted for the murder of something like two dozen Government Agents during or prior to the Battle of New York. Now can someone out there with a brain and some actual facts tell me what the eff is going on?_

_SS: It's been a weird week, Rick. I mean, someone tells me they're looking for a known traitor, I would expect to actually know them. Didn't we plaster McVeigh and Nichols' pictures all over everything once we figured out they bombed the Alfred Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City? We did that with Moussaoui with September Eleventh._

_RJ: True, Sarah. This… Edward Snowden? Hackers and people that know him have put together a website that's pretty comprehensive stating that the guy's former Army Special Forces, former CIA, former NSA, and is a contracted worker for Booz Allen, a security company, who is high up in the pecking order for keeping America's cybersecurity up-to-snuff. Now the Government's telling us that he's a little-guy programmer that somehow got the keys to the kingdom, stole a bunch of secrets and classified documents, and is attempting to sell them to our enemies? And… he's with the Avengers at the same time? Am I the only one scratching my head at this one? How is he a known traitor if this just happened a few days ago? How did the government slip up and realize one of their employees, who looks like has been a big part of our cyberdefense for like a decade, squandered away with supposed _terabytes_ of classified materials? I don't think I'm a dumb guy, but I'm a bit confused. Running to the Avengers with national secrets doesn't sound like treason, sounds like he found something disturbing and he went to people he could trust._

_SS: Well they are saying Captain America is a fake. I'm trying to figure out how a guy who was witnessed smashing through aliens and spending two weeks pulling eighteen hour days in rescue and recovery operations in Midtown trying to find trapped people can be a fake. This Senator Stern is now saying that Captain America was never found, and that this supposed person is someone with the uniform as a publicity stunt. If that were true, wouldn't that be the Government who did that? He wasn't rescued by some whalers or something._

_RJ: That's a good point, Sarah. Seven to eight months after his return, and all of a sudden he's an impostor in the last forty-eight hours? I like to think my listeners are bit smarter than just to believe whatever drivel comes out of someone's mouth, including mine._

_SS: I'm still trying to get over the fact that the Government is calling a kid a terrorist. I've never heard of this girl._

_RJ: I have, actually. For you listeners who weren't watching CNN last night, some mouthpiece in the government announced for the manhunt of a _fifteen-year old girl_ from New Jersey. Kamala Khan of Jersey City, a straight-A student at Coles Academy, a magnet school that's pretty much one of the best high schools in America, was declared, get this, a _known_ terrorist over public media. Now… I'm not a legal expect, but don't you have to commit an actual _act of terrorism_ to be considered a terrorist? We've arrested people who've sent money and plans to known groups, but they're arrested for _aiding_ terrorism, not being terrorists. And they certainly didn't announce any kind of actual crime either like they usually do whenever the big wigs wants someone nabbed._

_SS: Wait, how did you know all about her?_

_RJ: There was a science competition back in late-May, the Tri-State Area Science Competition, where the best-of-the-best school-aged children make projects and compete against their age groups. Kamala Khan was the winner for the High School Category and crushed the competitors in _three_ states; New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. So in other words, she's a teenaged Tony Stark. Now the government is saying she's a known terrorist without saying how or why, and that she's currently with the Avengers… whom no one has seen since last Sunday. Tony Stark gets his house rocketed by what looks to be _American_ helicopters, a NSA cybersecurity guru has upped and ran to the Avengers and is now being called a traitor, a fifteen-year old girl is being called a terrorist for reasons that aren't explained, and no one has seen the Avengers in nearly a week. I don't want to cause a panic… _

_RJ: But am I the only one thinking that winter is coming?_

* * *

**I-485/Capitol Beltway, Suitland, Maryland, December 13, 2012**

_-2 Days before __**Roten Shröder**__ deadline_

Three black 2013 Cadillac Escalade rentals drove upon the famous Capitol Beltway that encircled the District of Columbia as the vehicle drove eastward on I-495 Interstate Highway, the sixty-four mile loop that surrounded not only Washington, D.C., but several smaller unincorporated and incorporated towns connected to the national capitol of the United States of America. The vehicles drove through the normal morning rush hour traffic through one of the most traveled areas in America, where people came in from near and far for business, be it public, private, or government in one of the most iconic cities in the world, the New World's version of Rome existing in its own sixty-eight square mile defined territory. The District of Columbia and its surrounding area was the host of nearly every major component of the American Government, buildings that housed the three major branches of the first modern national democracy in the world, from architecture that ranged from Neoclassical to Neomodern. State buildings, museums, galleries, monuments, memorials, statues, businesses, libraries, and parks existed within the confines of the Beltway where the tallest building was a singular spire dedicated to the man who was elected the first President under the United States Constitution. Of the hundreds of agencies that existed or once existed, almost all had a home within or in the immediate vicinity of the highway known as the Beltway.

Including that of the Office of Naval Intelligence.

Created in 1882 to collect maritime intelligence on naval capabilities, cannon code, vessel construction and configuration, and to better serve her nation, ONI was America's first official intelligence-gathering agency, built on the concepts of the Pinkerton Detective Agency based upon using networks of informants and observers to detail information and return it for reporting and distribution. By the time of the invention of wireless radio and communication, ONI had been revamped into the first foreign intelligence-gathering agency due to the fact that it was the only agency in America that could send its agents to other countries prior to the invention of passenger planes. The Office of Naval Intelligence had been responsible for foreign intelligence gathering for the Office of Strategic Services and the Scientific Strategic Reserve, responsible for the planned capture of no less than five Nazi Germany ENIGMA cryptographic machines, the outright theft of German High Command orders thanks to a Naval spy, the safety and security of American diplomats and President Franklin Delano Roosevelt during their travels for the many meetings and efforts that brought them outside of America, and the delivering of both the first and second atomic weapons to their designated launch points with the Empire of Japan being none-the-wiser.

Its doors were officially closed in 1954 with the finished construction and inaugural ceremony of the Central Intelligence Agency.

Officially. Not _actually_.

Kamala Aisha Khan kept an eye on the progress of the three rental Escalades thanks to the intercepted signals of the many traffic cameras on the Beltway, both to report rush hour updates and to help law enforcement agents intercept potential threats. In one of the most heavily-guarded and highly-patrolled cities of the world, the fifteen-year old young woman was riding shotgun on the backbone of the system, given access thanks to the white hat hacker that sat next to her in the Command and Information Center known as 'the loft' aboard the Boeing C-17 Globemaster III Cargo Aircraft called "_Gungnir_", the Odinspear.

The Pakistani-American teenager kept an eye on the progress of the nine-Avenger team that was now traveling to the small inside-the-Beltway town known as Suitland, Maryland based upon the intelligence given to them by James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, and confirmed by former NSA hacker Edward Joseph Snowden. Construction blueprints and remodeling efforts had been hacked and gleaned thanks to Snowden, Mentor finding proof of security measures, layouts, floor designs, levels of security, entryways, power lines, and monitoring equipment. The past couple of days had been spent studying the documents and schematics in question, formulating a plan into breaking into a very highly-secured facility that had no governmental oversight or ownership, crafting and fabricating the items and equipment necessary to success, and even practicing for the upcoming mission.

Over two-and-a-half days had been used to prepare for what they were about to do, gathering as much information and intelligence for the planning and preparation phase as the now nine members of the Avengers practiced and trained for the ordeal ahead. They had one shot and one shot only to break into a HYDRA-controlled facility to access its main hard drive in the hopes to stop the deadline that would be happening in just two days' time. In order to save their country, they were going to have to break a few rules.

"Mongoose, take the next off-ramp and head down Pennsylvania Avenue." Kamala spoke into her headset, monitoring one holographic screen that displayed a topographical map of the Beltway's many roads, off-ramps, and intersection, while looking at another screen at the traffic feeds to not only monitor the progress of the ground team members, but also to keep an eye for traffic as well as any possible pursuers via a computer program Mentor had written that involved vehicle and license plate recognition. The teenager's youthful eyes moved from the traffic feeds to another set of holographic screens that were enhanced thanks to the set of Augmented Reality Overlay glasses she wore that showed the building in question that they were heading to, once known as the National Maritime Intelligence Center. Edward had found a satellite feed thanks to piggybacking onto a feed from a military monitoring satellite that monitored the Washington, D.C. area, seeing the area in question as well as a series of nearby cameras that had the building in question within its view. On the outside, it looked like a normal if well-aged office building, hardly noteworthy. A gentle hand touched her shoulder, and Kamala turned to see Jennifer Susan Walters standing behind her with a knowing smile on her face, looking at the young woman while giving her shoulder a soft yet supporting squeeze.

Yesterday, they had found out thanks to Doctor Henry Jonathan 'Hank' Pym looking through various news media sites that Kamala was now officially an orphan. There had been a great many tears from her, but she had done so burying her head into Jenn Walters' breast, who had held her through it all despite the seriousness of the upcoming mission.

Kamala had lost one family… but thankfully she had another.

_[I hate these kinds of overpasses]_ Commander Nathanial Troy Dugan reported with a grumble, Kamala seeing that the off-ramp was a classic cloverleaf junction of looping on-ramps and off-ramps. It would make monitoring any possible following traffic tricky, but the Navy SEAL behind the wheel of the lead vehicle was trained at such things as the three rental Escalades took the exit at the very last second, merging into the turning lane by slightly crossing into the lined gore that split the lanes apart. The tech prodigy watched a nearby monitor for any possible pursuit to see if anyone else needed to shift lanes quickly to take the exit for several seconds, and breathed a sigh of relief when it appeared that no one was on their tail. Renting three anonymous vehicles that one could find anywhere, especially since the American Government loved the Cadillac Escalades as a modern chariot for leadership and prestige, meant that unless HYDRA knew _exactly_ what to look for, even monitoring the traffic feeds closely would yield only the slimmest of chances of awareness or acknowledgment.

"No sign of pursuit, traffic is flowing good all the way to Suitland Parkway." Kamala relayed, her voice being sent not by radio frequency, broadband, wireless fidelity, or cellular tower protocol, but through the use of light-fidelity thanks to her _Miss Marvel Project_ and the use of light communication technology that Tony Stark had invented as a means to communicate without having his transmissions hacked by possible competitors. Three Miss Marvel drones were connected to the top of the Escalades, their Life Model Decoy programs activated to camouflage them while receiving and transmitting the laser communication signal from the _Gungnir_ that kept her in contact with the team without the possibility of being hacked or listened into unless something physically got in way of the invisible ultraviolet wavelength beam to receive it with the right technology and encryption. "Location looks clean and clear. No additional personnel compared to the previous two days, no change in scenery. Estimated time of arrival based on traffic conditions is twenty minutes."

_[We'll get in contact as soon as we arrive in the designated start point]_ came the voice of Captain Steven Grant Rogers, who was in the middle Escalade, the nominal ground commander for the Avengers while the personnel on the _Gungnir_ delivered to them anything and everything that they might need for the sake of the mission, be it information, video, intelligence, or even dropped supplies.

"I've already gotten several points softened up for the main effort." Doctor Hank Pym relayed from his own station, wearing a device on his ear that allowed him to relay electromagnetic communication with a wide variety of insects, mostly in the form of ants and wasps. The tiny creatures had been infiltrating the building in question for the past two day to loosen screws, widen gaps, build opportunities, and chew through electrical wires to send the on-site maintenance team into stressful fits from a plague of innocuous mishaps that were only somewhat security-related; there was no need to tip the personnel off that something was _about_ to happen, just to make it look like a bad week in progress. Receiver/Transmitter Devices had been enlarged by Doctor Pym and his amazing invention known as the Pym Particle, a revolutionary electromagnetic transconfiguration source that either condensed or expanded the molecular bonding distances within and between atoms to either enlarge or shrink something to size with no loss of mass. Several R/T's had been emplaced by ants and rats onto optical wiring once the insulation had been chewed through to give them access to the systems security footage as well as remote access to the buildings' security system. It didn't give them access to everything, but it certainly gave them a great deal of penetration into the highly-guarded facility that had been mapped out by ants, wasps, and rats thanks to Doctors Pym and Doctor Doreen Allene Green.

"Big Momma? ETA is approximately ten minutes." Kamala relayed as she looked upon an app that Mentor had jailbreaked for her, the Google Map App that would give an estimated time of arrival thanks to distance and land speed. The cellular network connection had been disabled to avoid any possible electronic snooping or surveillance, and the ETA was determined by the surrounding traffic instead of the vehicles in question. In a day and age of massive and pervasive electronic surveillance that was sadly under the grips of an enemy long since thought dead, the members of the Avengers had spent their time not only planning and preparing for the mission that would have them access the highly-secured facility clandestinely owned and operated by HYDRA, but to strike out from the shadows in and effort that would leave them reeling from an unseen assault.

"Surveillance of front entrance shows nominal activity. No changes from yesterday or the day before." Edward Snowden relayed as he monitored the building itself through a series or camera views that he had hacked into, merely passively observing thanks to traffic cameras and intersection cameras. Mentor had written several data programs that would aid in the infiltration of the facility, creating a series of viruses and malicious software to either gain entrance into the building physically or electronically. Kamala knew some coding, and had watched as Mentor write and debug a script for a series of malware strikes such as Denial of Service Attacks, Electronic Evil Maid Attacks, Side-Channel Attacks, Man-in-the-Middle Programs, Remote Access Trojan Devices, Sniffer Software, and NetStreaming Counter Programs. The young woman had watched in awe as the former NSA hacker written the codes in several different languages, not knowing what might be used as he explained what which ones did and the philosophies behind them. It wasn't like the movies; it took hours of coding to write real viruses and pre-made hacks before infiltrating a system, as well as finding access points and back doors to spoof.

Edward had spent the past two days running a fairly detailed counter-surveillance upon the building in question to passively see where he could get access and what would be needed. At that level of security, Mentor had told her there would be security protocols one _couldn't_ hack past despite Hollywood movies; physical Token chips or cards based on the Common Access Chips that one saw on Military ID Cards and debit cards, Onion Routes and Amnesiac Incognito Live System programs for bouncing intercepts through many routes with self-purging history, cookies and third-party programs, and Stand-Alone Complexes that were computers not connected to anything, where transfers were done with datadrives or hard drive swaps. It was this information that was Snowden's regular nine-to-five before being discovered in Kunia Tunnel stealing information from HYDRA's database. In terms of capabilities, it was likely that Mentor might be one of the best hacker on the planet.

Which was good that they had him on their side considering what they were about to do.

Kamala watched the linked-in traffic cam surveillance to monitor the progress of the vehicles that contained the ground team of the Avengers, using a different method of delivery than usual as a part of the deception of what they were going to hit and when; some military thing about switching roles, routes, and methods to keep the enemy guessing. Anyone _normal_ would use a small convoy of vehicles; no one would expect Captain America to be driven right to the front door. She didn't select which ones to view so as to further spoof anyone that might be trying to figure out what was going on. Even with the light-fidelity communication that the _Miss Marvel Project_ drones were using, the technology that Kamala and Edward were overriding was _theirs_, not the Avengers, and it was they who were the gatekeepers and key-carriers. Considering how many government buildings were in the area, another set of eyes might be missed, and Kamala was linked into a several block area for surveillance. Even if they could guess, there was a wide margin of error on their part.

_Who was it that said 'You need to be lucky every time, we need only to be lucky once?',_ the teenager thought to herself as she swiped through the holographic monitors that kept her abreast for the mission. Yes, she wasn't ground team (thank the Prophet!) but her role was just as important as theirs; without her, they would never hope to get as far or as deep into such a secured facility that technically didn't exist to rob HYDRA of its goodies. If they pulled it off right, the shadow organization would discover the theft after the Avengers walked back out the proverbial front door.

Not that it would be that easy, but the payoff was worth it.

"Big Momma?" Kamala turned her head from her station to look at the taller woman who stood in the center of the loft, whose authority was final amongst the Avengers; trusting them to do their jobs as they trusted her to do her own. Jennifer Walters looked to Kamala.

"They've arrived."

"Huntsman?" That was the codename for Captain Steven Grant Rogers for the mission, the moniker 'Captain America' a little tacky at this point in time. Plus there was an AI looking up and flagging codewords to prevent this sort of thing. The new codename had been made up by Kamala Khan in respect to the television show and movie series _Mission: Impossible_ and its main protagonist, Ethan Hunt.

_[Go ahead for Huntsman]_, Captain America's voice came out slightly distorted just in case there was voice recognition programs to worry about.

"Phase One is go." The Chief Executive Officer of the Avengers responded, and Kamala interlaced her fingers before pushing her palms out to crack her knuckles in preparation for what the Avengers were about to do.

Break into a HYDRA-controlled facility that had the wealth of America's clandestine, covert, and illegally-tapped electronic surveillance information and take it for themselves.

* * *

Natasha Alianovna Romanoff walked into a rather nondescript building wearing a government-oriented feminine suit with a black jacket and white silk blouse, a pair of adorable Buddy Holly glasses, her dark hair curled _just_ enough while held back by a hairband, and the right shade of bubblegum pink lipstick. Her high heels clacked on the hard pseudo-marble floor as she walked in through the front door along with several others who likely were employees for the five-story structure that was surreptitiously known as the _Naval Maritime Intelligence Services_ publicly but had _ONI_ on the glass doors at the front. The architecture was unassuming and looked like just about every other business building in a metropolitan downtown area; straight lines, concrete and glass, with little in the way of flavor and color. Anonymous and unassuming, the perfect disguise for a building that was a secured government facility _not_ run or owned by the American Government, named after a defunct intelligence agency. And the so-called Mistress of Disguises walked into the building in an ensemble that Edward Snowden called _nerd kryptonite_.

With the help of the ladies on _Gungnir_, Natasha Romanoff now looked like a woman with dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, and a cockney accent.

"Identification, please."

The gorilla at the electronic turnstile, wearing a black military-styled uniform and obviously armed with a Beretta Firearms' M9A1 Compact INOX pistol on his right hip, the haircut pure USMC as a dark-haired, dark-skinned, dark-eyed woman with a British accent and a United States Navy Uniform, patterned after the Navy Working Uniform Type I; a God-awful multi-colored digital camouflage that was a horrendous riot of blue and gray. It made a sailor stand out horribly (thus negating the word _camouflage_) and drew the eye instead of deterred it. Yet Commander Nathaniel Troy Dugan had insisted on getting it from a local Army-Navy Store with the correct name tapes and tags because (as Mongoose laid it out) it was _exactly_ what a spy or infiltrator wouldn't be caught dead in.

Perfect, in other words.

"Here you go, sir." Natasha said in her perfected Bostonian accent, handing over a Military ID that had the picture of her cover as well as a working Common Access Card chip that identified her level of access for the United States Military. "I'm afraid it's my first day. I have my orders if you need them." The not-redhead held up her attache case to show that she also had a piece of luggage that would need to be searched. The gorilla scanned her ID card in a magnetic strip that read the QR Code that was also on the card, matching the identity she had. Nat missed the days of forging documents with a linoleum knife and a rubber stamp. There was a positive beep on the computer (thanks to Mentor hacking into the DOD database to create her covers' credentials) as the man indicated for her to put her attache case on the conveyor belt that led to the x-ray machine next to the turnstile. Romanoff placed the case on the belt (gently) as it went through the housing unit in which let him view the (mostly) benign contents of the apparel, being several sheets of paper, a tube of lipstick, a compact, and a couple of tampon sticks inserted to embarrass men. The case went through without a hitch as Nat walked through the turnstile that doubled as a metal detector as well, breezing through after dumping the contents of her pockets into a provided basket; car keys, a man's leather bifold wallet, a pack of bubble gum, and her Navy-oriented service cover. That went through the x-ray machine as well.

So far, so good.

Nat collected her belongings after thanking the gorilla (she watched him check her out and gave him a shy wink of encouragement) as she walked into the main lobby of the misidentified _Naval Maritime Intelligence Services_ in which a ground design had been centered in the lobby's floor, an anchor over the globe (the old logo for the Office of Naval Intelligence, Nat noted) as her high heels clacked against the _faux_-marble floor along with a dozen or so others walking through the main lobby with its colonnades at each of the corners and plenty of American propo artwork glorifying democracy and liberty. It looked _just_ like an American government building.

Except it wasn't. And it wasn't owned by the US Government in any way. It made Nat think of _that room_.

Shouldering her attache case, Romanoff reached the elevator bank that would let her access the upper floors of the building, waiting diligently as she opened her attache case and pulled out a tube of lipstick, uncapping the cosmetic item to redo her lips like a woman might. She even did, for posterity's sakes.

And out from the cap,_ two_ things flew out.

As Natasha Romanoff boarded an elevator with four other people to go up to the third floor, she started whistling the chorus line to Bush's _The Little Things That Kill_.

* * *

"Hollywood movies are bullshit."

Clinton Francis Barton looked over to his temporary partner with amusement as Jessica Campbell Jones complained for about the fourth time inside of a minute. Actually, he didn't blame her considering that they had picked up _sewer duty_ as a portion of their mission.

And the sewer was all one could imagine it to being; filled with scummy water and trash and smelling like it, too.

"Remind me to tell you the time I infiltrated a terrorist training camp in the back of a cargo truck wedged in between a bunch of corpses that Islamic State executed because they didn't just kiss the insurgents' asses on sight." The archer said as he forded through the muck with his bow held above his head as he waded about diaphragm-deep in the questionable content of the Suitland Municipality Sewage System underground, almost directly underneath the building in question.

"Remind me to tell you the time I walked tits-deep in a sewage system to break into an intelligence agency with the only clothes I happened to have at the time." The private investigator shot back, making Clint snort and smirk at the raven-haired woman as she waded behind him. They had broken into the sewer system courtesy of one of Kamala Khan's highly-useful drones practically making them disappear by camouflaging them with the environment around them; she had made them go invisible by bending the light and shading them with the surrounding environment. It probably wasn't _perfect_ perfect, but the two of them had left the rented Escalades and slipped in through a manhole cover without anyone stopping or even glancing at their direction. Damn, if that girl had been around a few years prior with that _Miss Marvel Project_ of hers, SHIELD Strike Missions would have been so much smoother and less combat-intensive. "I guess being the strongest person on the plane means I get the mule jobs. Don't see Thor crawling in a sewer."

"Pretty typical of sharpshooters, too." The archer replied as he continued to wade through the muck, the water cold enough that it almost had him shivering despite the semi-insulating uniform that he wore. Jessica hadn't been kidding about one part; he pretty much was wearing the only uniform he happened to have. He was trying not to imagine his poor sewer-logged socks inside his equally-poor boots. There was no doubt about it, he was going to need a series of booster shots after this. "A few hundred more meters to go."

"Hooray." The raven-haired woman grumped as she followed Hawkeye, probably having her dreams as an Avenger dashed at the moment. One certainly didn't see the Justice League tramping about in a sewer, did they? Well, maybe Batman. Then again, Batman probably had some suit that would be completely waterproof until it hit his exposed chin. He'd have to have Kamala look something up. "I swear to God I can feel things shriveling and pruning up as we speak. If I come back with the body of an eighty-year old hag and alligator piss all over my clothes, someone's getting charged for a seaweed wrap and the dry cleaners."

"That seaweed wrap thing any good?" Clint asked as he forged through another few meters of muck. Never thought to ask, didn't sound very manly, but perhaps he could get Laura to come with him and make a couples thing out of it. Who said being pampered wasn't allowed?

"Dunno, never done it. But after this I'm taking a vacation and a day spa and find out what all the fuss is about and I'm dragging my sister along so we can tease the shit out of each other." Jessica replied, making a disgusted noise as she pointedly looked at something floating at the water. "Definitely a no on the mud bath. I think I've got enough in my boots to qualify."

"Yeah, I heard that." He didn't want to think how pruned and wrinkled his feet were. Booster shots and a blow dryer for his feet. "We're almost there."

"You've said that six times now, Hawkeye." Jessica reminded the archer as she coughed from any one of a number of smells from the dimly-lit sewer.

"It's to boost morale."

"If I need a boost in morale, I'll punch someone." Zephyr muttered behind him as Clint snorted, halfway agreeing with her. With all the wading and the smell, there had better be a good payoff at the end of this waterlogged road. "How much further to 'X' marks the spot?"

"Another twenty meters." Clint really had to hand it to Kamala's invention of the Augmented Reality Overlay glasses that he wore, taking the guesswork and double-checking out of the normal things that one encountered on missions, such as which way to turn, distance, direction, and even an amplification portion known as the Visual Intelligence System, Reconnaissance (VISR) that brightened the ambient light and outlined objects based on refracting patterns. There was a really helpful diamond marker in his view with a distance right next to it as well as a little line that showed right where he needed to go. Damn he could have used tech like this a few years back. Kamala was a certified genius with tech, and certainly one of the best things that Jenn ever did, and that was saying something concerning the lawyer. "Here we are." Clint took a small tactical flashlight from his uniform pocket and turned it on, pointing it at the sewer tunnel's brick-lined roof. "See? I take you to all the nice places, kid."

"My hero." Jessica deadpanned as Clint chuckled as he stepped away, shining the light in the same spot as he watched Jessica Jones looked at the spot in question before looking at him to give him a nod. Clint kept the light in the same spot as he took another few steps back as Jessica lowered herself enough to where she became neck-deep in the much and water, the woman grimacing as she did so.

Before she burst through the water and plowed through the brick tunnel's roof itself with her fists and body in a spray of violence, brackish water, and mortar.

* * *

"Big Momma? Ant-Man and Wasp report reaching their first target."

"Right on schedule." Jennifer Susan Walters, Esq. (CEO, Avengers) nodded as she looked over to Doctor Jonathan Henry 'Hank' Pym, who was sitting at a monitoring station while wearing a device connected to his left ear that would allow him the ability to communicate with several different species of the Order of _Hymenoptera_, being bees, wasps, ants, and sawflies. The older Doctor was looking towards a bank of screens that yet to display anything; these would be the monitors that would be showing the interior of the building once their ground team began connecting signal devices to the network to tap into security feeds and security networks. While he was currently controlling what was an absolute _swarm_ of various insects, there was a limit to what they could do, though that limit was rather impressive. But in order to infiltrate the Office of Naval Intelligence, they needed to utilize any and every means necessary to soften the target for their forces to gain access into the room where the HYDRA AI known as ZOLA was stored in order to gain the intelligence they needed to discover the information they required to stop the _Rot Schroeder_ timeline and the potential collapse of the American Government (and worse).

Two days until the deadline. They were quickly running out of time.

A camera feed showed the efforts of what James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes called '_Team SNAFU._', Jessica Jones and Clint Barton, infiltrating their way into the building in a manner only a strongarm could do. Hank snorted as Zephyr plowed her fist through another brick wall, the private detective and the marksman entering from underground in a way that was usually reserved for sappers and explosives. Thankfully, the buildings' _original_ blueprints were available, and despite modernization and the facility mysteriously dropping off the face of the Earth (electronically, that is), the blueprints for the sewers, the electrical system, the connection to the municipality, and several other necessities were still on file. So far, Jones had been breaking holes into walls to access something deep within the facility that security (and likely cameras) didn't cover since it was literally below even the lowest basement level. Who needed a demolitions expert when you had a woman that could punch through a wall?

"I've gotten about eighty percent of the way opened up for our infiltrators." Doctor Hank Pym, now codenamed _Monarch_ (as both 'royalty' being that he was the leader of ants as well as the eldest of them, the voice of wisdom). "Several of the cameras are now pointing in the wrong angle, a few of the sensors are only passively monitoring, and I've got several options for either different accesses or surprises through vents and side passages in case we need to relocate or lead them astray." Jenn had to admit that the whole talking to animals thing was a new one, but an option she wasn't about to pass up on. Doreen could technically talk to any animal in the animal kingdom that was a mammal, a marsupial, or even some avian species. Odd as hell, but right now odd was gold-certified. She certainly wasn't going to turn down help no matter the source or kind of help they could bring if one were willing. Plus Doreen could also shapeshift into something that Jessica had labeled a _weretabby_, turning into a man-sized feline with what sounded to be a fair deal of discomfort or pain. Jenn couldn't wait for a moment of reckoning concerning HYDRA and what they had done to Doreen, Bucky, her daughter Jessica, and Kamala's parents.

"Widow's on the third floor, working her magic on getting an access card." Mentor spoke up, his fingers flying on the holographic interface in front of him, hard at work. Edward had about a dozen holographic screens up for information dissemination as his hands worked his own magic, the hacker growing through several electronic access points and mild intrusions that would aid in the efforts into breaking into a hardened facility of a clandestine agency that itself was clandestinely ruled by a shadow organization. Jenn had to admit that she probably would have had a hard time picking a better person for the job if she had a week to do so, finding a software specialist who was both a dedicated patriot as well as willing to risk himself to do what he saw as the right thing. Most pictured hackers as computer geeks, likely overweight with a fondness for Hot Pockets and _Xena, Warrior Princess_. Edward certainly didn't fit that mold, being a fit, athletic man with a great deal of intelligence and more than a few languages under his belt (most of them computer languages).

Having felt something was wrong with the Central Intelligence Agency and National Security Agency's need to spy on everyone illegally (including Americans), he had gone off the reservation to do something right. Not _favorable_; _**right**_. He hadn't been interested in hoodwinking the government and stealing state secrets and selling it to the highest bidder. Edward had told Jenn that he was going to get evidence of the illegal taps and programs and bring them to the press, to highlight to the people what had been going on under their noses. That kind of action would have him hunted down ruthlessly by his own government, and yet he hadn't been deterred by the consequences. Yet when he had discovered the _Rot Schrader _deadline, Snowden had abandoned his plan and had gone straight to her, knowing his life was fully threatened. Now he sat on _Gungnir_ amongst living legends, working alongside them _as_ one of them, an Avenger in his own right. What might have been an act of a potential traitor had been seen as the determination of a patriot, an expert of his field willing to hold the line against the enemy. Plus he might actually be better with computers than even Tony Stark. That was saying something.

"Zephyr and Robin have made it to Sub-Level 01, and are awaiting further orders." Kamala called out as she kept in contact with the infiltration team, using different codenames for the most obvious Avengers; Captain America, Hawkeye, and the Black Widow. Thankfully, Snowden really was a cybersecurity specialist and knew the protocols of word searches on communications, both radio and electronic, and highlighted a few options on how to thwart the system in simple matters. Steve Rogers was now _Huntsman_, Clint Barton was _Robin_ (for Robin Hood, not the Boy Wonder), and Natasha Romanoff was _Bad Penny_; the supposed bad luck coin that always seems to turn up. The rest had their codenames still as they were too new or the one source of information that HYDRA had on the Avengers, the Scepter-controlled Jessica Drew, hadn't actually met them and didn't know their aliases. With Jessica Jones and Clint Barton at their proscribed location, it was almost time to take the next step. It was a dangerous step, but the audacity of it would certainly give them the beachhead that they would need to strike the Artificial Intelligence that was the brainchild of a Nazi scientist and the trump card for the modern-day HYDRA. All they needed was a few more minutes for their infiltrators to do their jobs and they would move to the next phase.

"I've got full saturation with my friends in the conduits and electrical panels." Monarch spoke up, Doctor Pym's station beginning to populate with screens. "Bad Penny has slaved the security lines, and we've got eyes on the interior." Jennifer looked over to the physicist and gave him a nod. Jessica and Clint were at the hard lines of the building, the structure modified to deny cellular phone calls and WiFi capabilities for anyone inside the building, leaving the only way to call out through the physical hard lines which were monitored by the buildings' security and the Zenith Organizational Lexicon Algorithm Artificial Intelligence known as ZOLA. With just two days until PROJECT: INSIGHT went on-line, Walters knew for the Avengers to succeed, they would have to more-or-less kill an advanced learning program with the same capabilities as fucking _Skynet_ from the _Terminator_ series.

"Big Momma?" Kamala turned in her chair to look at her, her dark eyes finding hers easily. "Ant-Man and the Wasp have arrived."

It was time for Phase Two.

"Huntsman, Mongoose, Terminator," Kamala had gone ga-ga over coming up with that name, practically everyone smiling at the young woman naming Bucky Barnes after the protagonist from the movie _Terminator 2: Judgment Day_ considering it fit him so well, "you are go for Phase Two. Happy hunting, gentlemen."

_[Wilco, Big Momma. Moving forward to Phase Two]_, Captain Steve Rogers replied as Jenn knew what would be happening next.

Captain America, the Winter Soldier, and the grandson of a Howling Commando were going to walk right through the front doors of a HYDRA-owned facility.

* * *

Author's Notes: After a year-long absence and more-or-less lack of creativity (minus the _Iron Man: American Gods_ storyline), I'm getting back into the action. With this shiny new chapter!

Denial of Service Attacks, Electronic Evil Maid Attacks, Side-Channel Attacks, Man-in-the-Middle Programs, Remote Access Trojan Devices, Sniffer Software, and NetStreaming Counter Programs are all actual intrusion and hacking software attacks and programs for someone (white hat, black hat, grey hat, or green hat) to make themselves into your computer and network.

"_You need to be lucky every time; we only need to be lucky once."_ \- The Irish Republican Army after a failed attempt to assassinate British Prime Minister Margaret "Iron Lady" Thacher with a bomb in 1984.

Yes, I bash the awfulness of that blue-and-gray monstrosity that is the US Navy multicam uniform that would camouflage them in water… which the one time you want to be seen is when you fall off your boat and into the drink. What are they disguising themselves from? Chief Petty Officers?

I don't say it, but Ant-Man _isn't_ Scott Lang. It's Sam Wilson in the Ant Suit with the Falcon wings. Powers combined!

SNAFU - WWII military lingo meaning Situation Normal; All Fucked Up.

WILCO - Also military lingo meaning 'Will Comply'.

Bad Penny - An old-school troupe of an unwanted thing, usually bad luck or a bad counterfeit, that somehow manages to get its way back into your possession (like getting a bad penny back with your change). I was going to have Nat have Emma Peel as the name for the female protagonist of the British television show _The Avengers_ but I thought that too obvious and trying to explain a TV show when real-world Avengers existed at the same time too weird. Strangely enough, Emma Peel was a spy, a martial artist, and wore a cat suit… like Natasha Romanoff does. But Emma Peel (played by Diana Rigg) did this in 1965-1968, and became a sex icon (much to Diana's disgust, actually!). The actress was dressed in sleek, sexy clothes (the miniskirt, the skin-tight suit, modern clothes by fashion designers making use of current trends) and Emma Peel was seen as progressive, sexy, and an icon for the 'modern' woman… which was completely the opposite of Diana Rigg, who hated the mini-skirt, the supposed leather getup (really spandex and plastic), and the garish 'neo-modern' colors.

Naming Bucky Barnes _the Terminator_ was just fun. And appropriate!

Yes, Captain America, Bucky Barnes, and Nate Dugan are going to walk through the front fucking door.


	27. By Our Powers Combined, II

_Psst… *looks around* hail hydra_

**The Office Of Naval Intelligence, Suitland, Maryland, December 13, 2012**

Author's Note: When infiltrating clandestine agencies, I don't recommend the front door.

Which is what I'll be doing right now with our story! :-D

I tried to do this before 9/3/2020, when the new Avengers game came out and I got to go to my happy spot. Because there was some serious ass that needs serious kicking.

And I got my serious boots on (because according to the game, I live right in the heart of AIM territory!).

Time to get you some!

* * *

"_Huntsman, Mongoose, Terminator, you are go for Phase Two. Happy hunting, gentlemen."_

"Wilco, Big Momma. Moving forward to Phase Two", Captain Steven Grant Rogers replied as he turned to look at the man sitting in the passenger seat of the 2013 Cadillac Escalade, seeing James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes sitting with an intense look upon his face as the veteran stared at the building they were about to tackle. "You ready for this, Buck?" It was still so surreal to know that his best friend was not only alive, but sitting next to him looking as if he were merely thirty years or so old, long brown hair draping down his head and a thick close-cropped beard upon his face. Just a year ago, more or less, he had been mourning the loss of a man he called brother. Rescuing Bucky from HYDRA had been a powerful thing, but they were all learning of the horror that the soldier had faced since they found his body in 1945.

"Damn straight I'm ready for this." The cybernetically-enhanced man replied with a dark look upon his face, no doubt looking for some payback. Bucky wouldn't go off the reservation with the plan, but he was certainly looking forward to the plan. It was a hell of a gamble that they were about to pull off; walking through the front door of a HYDRA facility. The audacity of it was stunning, and it was a hell of a risk. Yet Steve had walked right through the front door of HYDRA facilities before (mostly by blowing them up and the courtesy of bullets from the Howling Commandos backing him up), the organization usually ill-prepared for the totality that was about to strike them. Jennifer Walters had come up with a plan that would have had the 107th Airborne Regiment, known as the Howling Commandos, stand up and take notice. It was a mission that would have had Colonel Chester Phillips' taciturn face grinning at the sheer _balls_ of it. If HYDRA was expecting anything, they would be expecting some sort of shadow strike.

Instead, the Avengers took a page from the blind Greek poet Homer and were going to pull a Trojan Horse.

Steve nodded to his friend as he lowered his lower eyelid and put into his right eye a contact lens, and then he did the same with his left, blinking several times before feeling them resting in place. When he had finished, he dropped the sunshade and looked into the small vanity mirror to look at his reflection.

His eyes were now an ice-cold blue color; the exact same color as someone influenced by Loki's Scepter.

Rogers turned to look at Bucky, who had put his own contacts in, now sporting the same colored eyes as the two men wore clothing that matched what Barnes had worn when he visited the Office of Naval Intelligence last four months prior; black military-style combat boots, black slacks, a white button shirt and a simple black suit blazer for a semi-bodyguard look. Passing off James as still being controlled by the Scepter was a bit of a stretch, but theoretically possible. Passing off the man the world knew as Captain America would never sell though. Not unless they had an in.

God bless Kamala and her wondrous inventions; the young woman whose parents were murdered by HYDRA was about to return the favor.

"How are we looking, Nate?" Rogers asked the sole remaining occupant of the Escalade, sitting in the backseat.

"Like a sixty-three year old asshole Senator from Pennsylvania."

Steve turned the vanity mirror just enough to see Senator Gerald Stern (R-PA) of the Congressional Sub-Committee of Threats and Capabilities, whose well-aged face was looking back at him. Really, it was Nathaniel James Dugan, the former Navy SEAL wearing a manufacture apparatus on him that was the _Miss Marvel Project_ that would holographically change his appearance to the Republican Senator from Pennsylvania who had once demanded from Tony Stark the so-called _Iron Man Weapon_. Now that they knew that Stern was a member of HYDRA and quite high on the pecking order (thanks to Bucky), Kamala Khan had taken YouTube videos of the Senatorial Inquest to get the man's likeness and his voice, replicating it to fool the eyes and ears, and thus the mind. When Steve and Bucky went through the front doors of the Office of Naval Intelligence, they would be escorting an American Senator who was also a HYDRA member for access and authorization. Nate would be their pass card, his identity giving credence and believability to the fact that both Barnes and Rogers were supposed HYDRA members.

And they were going to walk right through the front door.

"You know, when this is all said and done," Nate said in Stern's voice, "I'm going to hit up Grandpa Dum-Dum and tell him all about this." The older man's face smiled, mimicking Dugan's own movements while superimposing Gerald Stern's face over his own. "I'm going to one-up the shit out of the old man while sharing a beer with him and told him I got a chance to kick some HYDRA ass so he can cry that he wasn't invited."

"Yeah, Dum-Dum would be right here with us. Probably punching the door guard before pulling out his shotgun and putting pellets in squids." Bucky said, a ghost of a smile on his bearded face.

* * *

The front door to the Office of Naval Intelligence opened. The front door closed, and inside were three men in suits, with one of them wearing a tie and a small pin of the American flag on his left lapel. His well-aged face looked around the lobby as his two meaty bodyguards stood at his side, one a long brown-haired man with a few weeks of beard on his face and the other a clean-shaved blond-haired man with a classic haircut one could see in black-and-white movies. The older man with the pin on his suit looked like a politician should; a barracuda in human skin, sly and weaselly, ready to eat his own kind for a political profit. His bodyguards just confirmed his identity; one the very picture of the model bodyguard, tall and blond and muscular, and the other looking as if he had fallen off a Special Forces recruitment poster and put a wild beast into a simple three-piece suit. The face of the politician was a well-known one, seen in that very building on many an occasion. For the cameras that watched the movement of every living soul that not only walked within its confines but also any that dare approach its perimeter was logged, scanned, went through facial recognition software, had its background (public, private, social, electronic, monetary, and classified) checked and verified. When the aging man walked in, all this was done in less than a second, identity checked and verified before his second shoefall hit _faux_-marble of the building known as the Office of Naval Intelligence; benefits of the electronic age where a very real and very digital Big Brother existed, unbeknownst to most everyone.

The identity had been confirmed; Senator Gerald Lawrence Stern, Pennsylvania Senator and Sub-Committee Member of Threats and Capabilities.

The second scan was done on one of the bodyguards, the rough-looking one. James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes. Known aliases being 'the Asset' and 'the Winter Soldier'. Unlike the Senator he stood beside, a scan of his eyes showed that his eyes were the right shade of ice-blue. His presence had been missing for three days, even from the digital world, but the man had been trained by the best to be even better than they; the ghost of violence past. Many intelligence agencies had been hunting the man with the codename of the Winter Soldier for _decades_, and before the Artificial Intelligence had gone online four months prior, the brainchild of a Nazi researcher who had heavily invested in computer technology now twenty years dead, this man had given everyone the slip. That he could still do so was of no surprise, not really. Still, despite the disappearance, the acknowledgment of his Scepter-altered eyes meant that he was one of theirs. Like the Senator beside him, he had been given a green light and a pass for access before making his second tread.

The third man raised about a dozen flags. Most in the 'THREATCON ALPHA' Category, the highest level of alertness for a government facility that meant _Clear and Present_ _Danger_ and _Attack Imminent/Underway_.

The third man being Captain Steven Grant Rogers, also known as Captain America. Identify confirmed.

Yet that scan, done by cameras and biometric software that had mapped his face and matched it to a thousand instances of digital photographs and videos surfing the internet thanks to cell phones, security cameras, and even digital photography thanks to an agent now under the control of the Scepter, had noticed a few distinct differences with the man known most for wearing a star-spangled themed uniform and a four-foot diameter impervious shield. The first being that he was in black casual attire, a plain black three-piece suit that one always associated with business or asset protection. The second was that there was no shield; it was much too large to conceal, and there was nothing that size suggesting that he was hilariously trying to smuggle something the size of a manhole cover by disguising it as something else. It just wasn't there, Captain America bereft of his iconic invincible shield.

The third fact that was noted was the color of his eyes. They were the same exact shade as the Winter Soldier's. And everyone else that had gotten a taste of the Scepter, so to speak.

The Artificial Intelligence known as the Zenith Organizational Lexicon Algorithm, or ZOLA, pondered this for exactly fifteen milliseconds; an eternity for a learning program that rated at twenty-five _trillion_ computations a second. There had been no report of Captain America's capture, the use of the Scepter on him, or the Scepter being moved from its location in a secret laboratory that really only about fifteen blocks away from ONI's location. The Winter Soldier had been missing for three days since ZOLA sent both the Asset and the Agent to Camp Lehigh when an old infrared beam had been tripped at the entrance of the old SHIELD bunker at the location in Wheaton, New Jersey. The Agent, codenamed Agent Venom, had returned not only empty-handed, but also alone. The report given by the agent in question had been clear and concise; the Avengers had been in the old SHIELD Headquarters, obviously searching for something. For what was a puzzle that ZOLA had pondered for approximately fifteen milliseconds; there was many things that had been in the old Headquarters that might be of interest to the group. The AI knew that the Avengers were at least aware of some things thanks to Edward Joseph Snowden, that cybersecurity asset who had purloined many terrabytes of information masquerading his requests as historical value and comparison to disguise his intent. The human hacker had fooled ZOLA, and if the program _could_ feel emotion, it would have given a measure of respect to former employee of Booz Allen Hamilton.

For fifteen milliseconds, ZOLA considered the possibilities.

The old SHIELD Headquarters was known for many things… but PROJECT INSIGHT wasn't one of them. Nor was PROJECT FACSIMILE, the Project started by Doctor Armin Zola that would eventually lead the to the invention and programming of the many watchdog programs that infested the internet for HYDRA. The thought of electronic snooping and information collection had been introduced before the internet was the internet, back in the days when DARPA (the Defense Advance Research Project Agency that was the American Military go-to research and development program) had began connecting computers with the thought _digital transference_ to save on waste of paper, time, and transportation. Doctor Zola had seen the future in the idea of a 'world wide web' of computer connections, and had written the first program to collect data between two computers long before the idea of cybersecurity had even been a thought.

Of course, Doctor Zola had invented the 'anti-virus' program. It was really just another monitoring program that people and business paid for to give his programs access to everything electronic.

So with the coming of Captain America into ONI alongside Bucky Barnes and Senator Gerald Stern, ZOLA was at a quandary; this wasn't a part of its prediction model. Captain Rogers was a soldier; his entrance would mean fighting. 'Seeing' him in a suit and without his iconic shield meant that fighting wasn't what he had come for. There was no suggesting that this was a form of espionage, and a quick query of videographic material over the past twenty-four hours didn't show any other kind of intrusion from any other member of the Avengers. Captain America was many things, but _subtle_ wasn't one of them. While ZOLA didn't have an update to Senator Stern's itinerary (that in itself wasn't unusual with his extracurricular activities concerning female constituents and avoiding his wifes' attention of such things), the AI did note that the Senator had gotten into an Escalade of the same make and model a few hours prior, even the same license plate. The vehicle had been monitored (like all vehicles had been monitored) and it had seen the Cadillac drive along the Suitland Parkway and right into the parking lot of ONI.

ZOLA sent a discrete query through its programs, and via the various biometric devices installed into the building, took a scan of Captain Rogers' blood pressure, temperature, heart rate, and minute scans of perspiration, minute trembling, and anything else that would indicate nervousness, fear, anxiety, or stress. Everything that was scanned, read, checked with baseline marks from not only other humans, but Captain Rogers himself, indicated one thing and one thing only.

Cool as a cucumber. Completely without fear or stress.

Fifteen milliseconds after scanning Steve Rogers as he entered the front door of the Office of Naval Intelligence with his too-blue eyes and his calm heart, ZOLA reached its conclusion.

It gave him a pass.

* * *

"Big Momma? No alarms, no gorilla linebackers trying to tackle them, and no guns out.

"They're _in_." Kamala Aisha Khan said outloud in a whisper that was somewhere between joy, awe, and disbelief. She looked over to the lawyer who was looking at the broad Organic Light-Emitting Diode electronic monitor that displayed an Augmented Reality Display upon its paper-thin plastic surface, who was giving the young Pakistani woman a smile. Phase Two had been a hell of a gamble, but there was no way around it; the front door was a _necessity_. James 'Bucky' Barnes hadn't been shy in naming off every detail he could think of in terms of HYDRA security, both with the Office of Naval Intelligence building as well as other facilities he had visited in the past. Kamala knew that Jenn had been rather cross with just how _good_ HYDRA had failsafes and safeguards on their installations; the organization that had evidently infiltrated _everyone_ was rather paranoid of the same thing happening to them (no surprise, really). Despite all the blueprints, schematics, intelligence, reconnaissance, and preparation they had done since hitting Camp Lehigh three days prior, there was just no way around it.

As Clint Barton had pointed out rather accurately, there were just too many Goddamn cameras.

"Have Artemis know that she's on stand-by in case we need a diversion, a distraction, or some destruction." Walters told the fifteen-year old woman as the lawyers' eyes went back to the series of monitors that portrayed various views, details, and life signs of the various monitors, a momma bear worried over her cubs. With nearly less than forty-eight hours until the execution of the _Rot Schrader_ deadline, they were pushing things rather close. There was a Plan B, of course, but Plan B wasn't really so much an option as it was a last ditch, really final ditch, effort. If shutting down ZOLA didn't pan out or something unforeseen happened where the plan didn't work, Plan B would be invoked.

It wasn't something any one of them was looking forward to.

"Artemis? Little Sister." Kamala touched the earpiece that was her communication device out of rote; it was just one of those things people did out of habit, and in such stressful times, everyone needed their little comforts. "Hike is successful. Ball is moving down the field." Doctor Doreen Greene spent too many years in the University of Michigan _not_ to know American football. The young tech genius had a small holographic list of 'taboo' words to avoid using in case their communications was intercepted, intentional or not. Some of the more obvious ones were their real names and codenames. Also anything that sounded like a mission. When one was pitting themselves against an Artificial Intelligence that was pretty much overlording the internet, it paid to be anonymous. "First and ten."

"_I've got the special teams ready to go for either a kick-off or a field goal."_ The slightly-synthesized voice of the Veterinarian replied. Her voice was disguised as, since she had been taken by HYDRA, it was likely her voice would be monitored and recognized unlike some of the others. Kamala found it interesting that of all the Avengers (both present with them on this mission and abroad… wherever they might be), it was quite possible that Doreen might be the most powerful of them. Not the strongest, and she certainly didn't possess some object that made her more capable such as a mythical hammer, an invincible shield, or an incredible suit of iron. No, Doctor Doreen Greene, the animal-lover and Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, had an ability that was certainly hard to deny, not to mention quite impressive. Kamala had to think over and look up anyone in comic book history that had the ability of what she called_ zoopolyglotic telepathy_; the ability to converse with many species of animals mentally. Arthur Curry, better known as Aquaman from the DC Comics like Justice League, had the ability to talk to various aquatic species, but had to be in the water to do so. It also wasn't telepathy, but actual speech. There was of course Harry Potter, who inherited Tom Riddle's Slytherin ability to talk to snakes, but again, that was physical speech. Dar, from the movie _Beastmaster_ with Mark Singer, actually communicated with Animal Empathy, using emotions. As far as Kamala could tell, Doreen was utterly unique in that regard.

It was also very possible she was a one-woman army.

During the three days in which the Avengers were preparing for the infiltration and strike on the Office of Naval Intelligence, Jennifer Walters had but one order for Doctor Greene; to practice her powers. HYDRA had been only interested in using her as a weaponized tool and a killing machine. Even Kamala could tell that the Veterinarian with the soft spot for 'cute animals' was wracked with guilt with the things that she was forced to do, reliving those memories in her nightmares. Jenn had talked to the Doctor about it, telling Doreen what she saw; a woman with an opportunity to make a difference in both her life and in others. The lawyer had wanted the Vet to move away from the idea of a killing machine and instead to something a little more amazing; a woman who could summon a _legion_ of animals to turn the tide of things when times were at their most dire. Who was to say what someone with Doreen's gifts could have done during the Battle of New York, ushering civilians away, some of the more dangerous species turned into protectors and guardians to fight the Chitauri? Jenn had wanted _Doreen_ to explore what she could do, to learn for herself instead of having just what HYDRA wanted. For three days, the Veterinarian had done just that, discovering her range, her strength, what species she could contact, how far her control was, how far they could be pushed, and how to use them in more ways than just assault.

Kamala had watched as the Veterinarian sat upon the cargo bay floor of _Gungnir_ with her eyes closed and her legs in a lotus position as she willed herself from being that killing machine and molding herself into the kind of woman she wanted to be as well as the kind of _hero_ she wanted to be. The Ann Arbor-born woman had worked herself hard (mentally, mostly, but also emotionally) to explore her own capabilities, to learn the things that she could do that HYDRA wasn't interested in with their so-called 'pet killing machine' (what the jerks called her). HYDRA had put her through a series of tests that Kamala knew she hadn't been informed of due to the fact no one likes telling a minor that they were probably tortured and not just in the rough-interrogation type of torture, so Doreen knew that she was invulnerable to a certain degree like pistol rounds, fists, and knives. But Kamala heard the words that _weren't _said; those people that had thought mind-control and human experimentation fun and proper had probably stuck the Veterinarian in front of several different kinds of weapons and _shot_ her to see what would and wouldn't work. How did someone reach the point in their lives that just gunning down innocent people seemed a good idea to them?

_Well, I've actually met a few immigrant Muslims that I was rather leery of,_ the young woman thought to herself, not really needing a big reminder of what people were doing in the name of her religion. She really didn't fault Americans for being a bit harsh and wary of Muslims, not when one could look at the past century of the Middle East and see its plethora of problems spanning decades. It wasn't quite as bad as some places in Africa, but only just. Practically every nation in that section of world had rather rampant insurgencies, revolutions, overthrows, oppression, tyranny, or terrorism. The past year or so had been particularly awful with the Arab Spring which saw the overthrow of four Presidents, major protests in six countries (which went right to violence on both sides), and major demonstrations in thirteen more. Now there was a civil war in Syria, Libya's was still petering out, Egypt was still trying to make their government work, Iraq was in the middle of a mini-civil war along with Islamic State trying to be the new face of fundamentalist oppression and tyranny, and Yemen looked like it was spiraling out of control. Here she thought that such things as governmental overthrows and coups were a thing of third-world countries.

Now it was happening in America. Her home.

_Abbu and Ammi left Pakistan because they really thought there would be a nuclear battle between Pakistan and India_, Kamala thought to herself as she monitored the screens, knowing the story from her parents. When her father had been a young man living in Karachi, the economy had been booming, and Yusif Khan had gone into banking during a time of fortune when Pakistan was one of the biggest and fastest-growing economies in South Asia. But in-fighting between the majority political parties in Pakistan had the Pakistani Muslim League (Nawaz) with a supermajority in Parliament at the same time India was conducting its second nuclear test more than twenty years after its first set. Pakistan had tested its own nuclear devices, and Yusif had seen what he thought was inevitable; a war between India and Pakistan where both nations were poised for war and armed with more than just soldiers, tanks, and planes. He had taken his wife and immigrated to America, Muneeba being three months pregnant with their daughter. Kamala Aisha Khan had been born in Hoboken, New Jersey, officially an American Citizen by rote instead of Pakistani, living in a world so natural to her yet so strange for her parents. She didn't even remember the 'tough' times right after September Eleventh, something her father was grateful for.

Kamala had always thought things like government coups, overthrows, collapses, and implosions were the things of Central Africa and the Middle East, where a government didn't seem to last even a generation.

But now it was happening here, in the country of her birth.

When war had loomed over Pakistan, when nuclear tests were being done and the armies of Pakistan and India had been mobilizing for a war that would involve the second-most populated and fifth-most populated countries in the world with militaries to match, Yusif had elected to move his growing family as far from the conflict as he could. He was a banker, not a soldier, living in Pakistan's largest, most populated city. He knew that any conflict would have his family in danger, yet he without any means to protect them… save one. It had been at great risk that Yusif Khan had smuggled his pregnant wife and unborn daughter to America, entering the United States properly and beginning the naturalization process when arriving in New Jersey, seeing his daughter born to a country where education was free and provided to all, where there was a church for just about every religion imaginable to be found, where communities of many ethnicities existed without any of the real issues one saw in other places in the world. The war between India and Pakistan had never happened, but Yusif knew that he had done the right thing though it had broken his heart to leave the country of his birth. He had always talked of it with pride, vowing to take Kamala there to see where he had grown up and where her heritage was from. That… never happened.

Now a war was looming over America. And it had already cost Kamala her parents.

Abbu_ ran because he knew he couldn't fight back, so he did the only right thing he could do in that situation,_ Kamala looked upon the screen where she saw a slaved camera feed of Captain Steve Rogers, James 'Bucky' Barnes, and the disguised form of Nate Dugan posing as Senator Gerald Stern make their way through another check point with ease. _He did it for me, but I always heard it in his voice whenever he talked of home, _his_ home, how much he missed it so._ Growing up a Muslim-American in the 2000's hadn't been the easiest, but Kamala only needed to turn on the world news to know that she still had it luckier than even Muslims living in Muslim countries; no one in America cared if she were a Sunni Muslim, not even the Shia'a Muslim-Americans! Kamala had gone to school with Muslims, Jews, Christians, Buddhists, and others… and hadn't cared once about what religion another person might have; a far cry from a vast majority of the nations of the world. Kamala had been born free, lived free, and free to choose what to do with her life (though _Abbu_ really wanted her to be a Doctor, a profession of respect and wealth). In America, a woman could hold just about any position she chose, while Kamala knew that in many Middle Eastern countries she wouldn't be allowed to drive a car or even walk down a sidewalk without a masculine family member or a husband to escort her as if she would get lost along the way. She knew that her father wanted her to see Pakistan, and she probably _would_ have enjoyed it… but Kamala knew in her heart she would never live there, be happy there. It was too different, it wasn't home.

Home was where the heart was, and someone was going and breaking her heart.

_If HYDRA succeeds, there won't be anywhere to run,_ Kamala watched as Sam Wilson and Hope van Dyne, the Ant-Man and the Wasp, were stationed at a security junction box in which they had added microchips right to the motherboard. Edward Snowden had come up with the idea of 'hardware hacking' by creating physical chips that would grant their infiltrators access without having to digitally do so, hopefully blindsiding the organization. _If they succeed in taking over America, which is what it looks like they're planning on doing, they'll have access to everything._ Kamala didn't even want to think of what a future like that would be like; a fascist police-state filled with military-style checkpoints, travel vouchers to limit movement, and security with technology far more advanced than what cops and the military had now. And it wouldn't stop with America, would it? _It'd be stupid to think that they aren't in other countries. I found some lists that had names from other nations on it too._ America had the absolutely largest Navy in the world; armies were nice, but American Naval vessels could obliterate most every nation on the planet and then some, and that wasn't counting their nuclear-armed submarines! Kamala vaguely remembered Mongoose saying that even the smallest American Aircraft Carrier was still forty percent bigger than the largest foreign Aircraft Carrier in the world… which was Italy. And the Italian Navy only had three aircraft carriers, all dwarfs compared to their American breathren. Simply put, America_ owned_ the International Waters, and its Air Force was considered by damn near everyone with brains to be the best in the world.

_If HYDRA takes it over, they take over the world._

The only roadblock that existed… was the Avengers. HYDRA had a solution for everything else save for the people that were flown about on-board the _Gungnir_. HYDRA had control of the satellites, the cell phone towers, its fingers in the internet, the intelligence community, and what appeared to be every decision-making process in the American government. Edward had e-mailed the Central Intelligence Agency over his concerns and earned himself a cyborg assassin for his efforts. And though they didn't say it, Kamala knew that Bucky and Doreen were used to 'silence' those who were discovering the plot in its final countdown, keeping it as quiet as possible until it was too late. All that stood between HYDRA and the world… was fourteen people in a Boeing C-17 Globemaster named after the Allfather's weapon-of-choice.

_And none of us are running,_ Kamala thought to herself as she watched the screens to see the teams of infiltrators work their way to their objectives, Captain America and his team reaching the last checkpoint before they reached what Bucky had simply called 'the Vault'. The fake passes were checked and acknowledged (thanks to the contributions to their two tiny infiltrators) as the three men walked into a server room that looked about as well protected as a bank vault. She could see the door that looked to be a high-grade version of an anti-intrusion accessway, a thick metal door that looked tough enough to take a rocket and spit it back out. There were security goons in the same room as Cap and his team, and none of them looked alarmed as 'Senator Stern' was verified as being able to access the data vault. Kamala was glad that HYDRA didn't use fingerprints for biometrics considering how easy it was to pull a fingerprint with something as simple as tape.

No, there would be no escape if HYDRA succeeded in their plan; to launch a worldwide hostile takeover of the internet with the thought of complete digital monitoring and control of data while putting into the air seven heavily-armed flying aircraft carriers with weapons more than powerful enough to bring a city to it knees and take down any naval vessel and fighter craft launched against it. The hit list that Kamala and Edward had found had been a list of targeted persons that would fight HYDRA, that would rally a resistance, so they had to be eliminated. It only took one look at the HYDRA Helicarriers to see how they would do so with the many guns coming out of the airborne vessels that were almost right out of a Sci-Fi dystopian movie featuring global domination. With all the watchdog programs connected to cell towers and the internet, those people on the list would be quickly eliminated, and anyone added on later also taken out just as fast in a world filled with cameras, internet access, wi-fi, facial recognition software, and prediction model theory based upon movements, purchasing habits, and search histories. This was literally the very scary version of what James Cameron envisioned with the _Terminator_ series; of a malevolent digital takeover of the world by a technologically superior foe. Instead of cyborgs and robots, HYDRA would be using Helicarriers, experimented-upon people turned into enhanced individuals with superpowers, and the Scepter to overthrow the world.

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

_None of us are going to be running though,_ Kamala thought as she watched the massive metal door open to admit 'Senator Stern' and his two bodyguards into the holy of holys; the data vault that contained the HYDRA Artificial Intelligence Mainframe known as ZOLA.

_Not even me._

* * *

_[Hello, Captain. I vas vondering ven you vould show up]_

James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes stood beside Nathanial James 'Nate' Dugan in his disguise as Senator Gerald Stern, the sound of a synthesized accented voice coming from the ceiling as the three of them stood in what was a very secured data vault that housed an array of state-of-the-art servers that seemed to go a good distance. While he only had a moderate understanding of the technology of the time he was aware of now, he knew that servers were constant computers known for their processing and connectivity for such things as the internet, effective when they were on. Unlike a computer, their value laid in their processing speed and some kind of storage called 'cloud' that housed information over wide areas that weren't necessarily physical or even present in one specific location. The last time he had been here, he had dully watched on as the Zenith Organizational Lexicon Algorithm was turned online and connected to the internet to 'learn' at a geometric rate, its computation ability as well as its learning program more sophisticated than any other machine or program on the planet (or, at least that was what said around him). The brainchild of Doctor Armin Zola, he had invented the first spyware as well as a way to create digital safes called 'firewalls' before the birth of the first internet, constructing adapting programs that would lure people into thinking their privacy was safe… while practically giving the man and his plot the so-called keys to the kingdom.

HYDRA had reared its ugly head in a way no one could have imagined.

"Zola." Captain Steve Rogers spoke taking a step forward as he looked upon a large pain of thin translucent plastic in which an image was displayed upon its surface, showing an electronic facsimile of a face of a Swiss scientist who had been captured by the Howling Commandos in 1945. The same mission that he had been lost on. "If you knew this was a trick, then why did you let us in?"

_[Zee same reason why you captured me all zho years ago instead of killing me on zee spot, Captain; to flout.]_ The digitized face spoke, its tone somehow smug over the speakers. Barnes knew that the _real_ Armin Zola had died decades ago due to colon cancer, sometime in the early-Nineties. Yet that voice was his, that projection his, his works displayed right before them. _[Ven you brought me in, your esteemed Colonel offered me zee chance to work with zee Americans to stop zee _Fuhrer_ and zee Third Reich. Ven zee offer came, I accepted. It vas known as _Operation: Paperclip_, vere zee Americans brought in Nazi scientists to advance zere own scientific research in zuch zings as rocket technology, advanced mechanics, and chemical weaponry. I, of course, vas under orders to accept the Americans' possibility of parole and conditioned employment. To spread HYDRA, to grow it right under zee very noses of zose who sought to destroy us. I verked on zere projects, and my own. Everything zat I made, I seeded, like zee Greek zailors who would bring sheep to small izlands to feed zemzelves on future voyages. Ven zee first computers came on-line, it vas I who wrote zee programing languages that served as zee basis of all zat vwood be zee operating zystems of zee future. Zee future iz a digital book, and I its author]_

"Holy shit. That can't be possible." Nate said beside Bucky in the Senator's voice, his holographic face stunned. "If this was responsible for the very first programs…"

_[Indeed, Lieutenant Commander Dugan]_, the digital specter replied, somehow knowing the holographic illusion and identity of the man within. _[I created a digital facsimile of my intellect into an algorithm to continue my werks, to achieve zee goal I started zo long ago]_ Bucky just found himself looked at the holographic image of a man he once knew to be the enemy so long ago. _[I have created an algorithm zat takes all zee complied personal information of every man and woman in zee world and computate it zreu a prediction analysis program to discover who zee threats are both in prezent time and in zee future. Wherever zey may go, whatever zey may do, zey will live in a world of order and peace where zee agitator and zee criminal are eliminated before zey are ever a threat. Because of my program, zere will finally be peace on Earth, and it will be HYDRA that will guide zee future of mankind]_

"Great, the whole New World Order bullshit through a computer. Some real Skynet shit." Dugan replied, somewhat confusing Barnes. He had heard the name _Skynet_ more than a few times from the Avengers, some cinema twenty years prior that evidently deal with cybernetic assassins, time travel, and some man made out of liquid metal.

"Seven Helicarriers won't help you conquer the world, Zola. Other countries will fight back." Steve replied, his tone assured.

_[Do you really zink zat ve vould have infiltrated every azpect of zee American Government without having ozers in ozer nations, Captain? No, ven ve rise in forty hours time, ve will have ze aid of members in every First World Nation in zee world to align zemselves to our cause, insuring zat there vill be no resistance, no agitation. Ve vill dominate ze greatest nations on zee planet, and with zere mutual powers of economy and military, ze rest vill accede to our authority or zey vill be eliminated_]

"Then I guess the only think stopping you is us." Steve replied, making Bucky almost snort from the memory of a shrimp who never knew how to back down from a good cause or a fight he couldn't win. "The ones you couldn't subvert, contain, or control. The ones that threw your operation earlier. Something that Jenn did."

Bucky remembered hearing that from both HYDRA Agents as well as the Avengers, that the timeline had been moved to the left. Bucky hadn't known the details, and neither had Doctor Coreen Greene, who had been present during that particular conversation. There had been discussions and arguments on how to move the projects faster, the risks that were involved. James remembered that the boon that HYDRA had on their side was the Scepter of Loki, giving HYDRA complete loyalty and dedication to all whom it touched. Bucky would know; he had been the first they had used it on, testing what it could do. Then they had started poking people in earnest, fueling a metahuman project called PROJECT ARGUS where HYDRA had taken people in and experimented on them using some sort of formula that was a genetic modification that would enhance people… if they survived. Select qualifying personnel from basic training for the Central Intelligence Agency, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Qualification Courses for the Special Operations Command, and Personnel Change of Station of US Military Veterans with high degree of combat experience. Bucky didn't know how many had been entered into the program, but he knew that the survival rate was something like five to ten percent. Doctor Doreen Green and Jessica Drew had been the ones of their CIA class to have survived the transformation process; he was sure if he considered them lucky or not considering what HYDRA did to them and with them under their complete and under control.

That was something that he hadn't bothered to tell Jennifer Walters yet, and Doreen certainly wasn't filling in those blanks either.

_[Yes, your Jennifer Valters. I vill admit that she stymied us with her arrival]_, the computerized voice replied. _[She vas already a target based upon her voting history and choice of cases before she vas brought to New York to provide control and oversight to zee Avengers, a program ve had zee World Security Counsel shutdown numerous times. I had predicted zat zee Avengers vould be nothing more zan a fad, too many svollen egos to exist long in such a small space. Frau Valters superseded my prediction analysis with her radical movements and actions, changing zings and foiling plans zat she had no idea of. Zee success of defeating the plan to prevent zee insurance companies from paying out zee American public for zee damages done by zee Chitauri. Zee court ruling zat would defame Thor Odinson and make him look like a fraud. Yet it vas her plan to denuclearize zee world and bereft us our arsenal that we had been building up with politics and conflict zat forced us to speed up our timeline 'lest she began her initiative that would have nations disposing of zere nuclear arsenal. She vas zee outlier, the monkey wrench, so to speak. Zee prediction model of zee effectiveness of zee Avengers grew increasingly erratic and erroneous with zee leadership of Frau Valters, leading to zee conclusion that to vait vould lead to zee discovery of our efforts as vell as zee elimination of our future endeavors. I vill have to admit zat zee Frau has proved to be a vorthy adversary]_

Bucky was a bit stunned at the revelation. Despite the reputation and the abilities of the Avengers, it had been a normal woman that had given HYDRA pause. Not men with Super Soldier serums, men in iron suits, demigods, or beasts of rage. No, decades of planning and infiltration, of seeding themselves in the shadows waiting for the their moment to strike, and they were being thwarted by a woman who, by all accounts, was dead set into changing the world for the better. That was why she was in the top position in HYDRA's hit list; Jennifer Walters was the opposite of all that HYDRA stood for. Selfless, giving, promoting peace and justice with compassion and fairness, Jennifer Walters had come to the scene and defied all expectations and rationale. In what amounted to a mere six months worth of time, HYDRA had gained itself an enemy worthy of the name, an adversary of equal value. Despite all that HYDRA had done in preparation in their plan to take over America and the world, the Avengers couldn't be infiltrated, compromised, or pushed out of the equation. HYDRA had written them off as a temporary measure but had been sadly mistaken. For all its vaulted plans and gloating, it had underestimated them.

And it was thanks to an attorney, of all things.

"As long as there's breath in our bodies, we'll oppose you." Steve said with righteous cause, never an ounce of give in his voice. If anyone knew how to stand up to a bully bigger and stronger than he, it was most certainly his best friend. "You can corrupt those who seek power or money, but there will be those who will see you for what you are and will rise to fight you. And we'll be standing there right beside them."

_[Brave vords, Captain. But sadly irrelevant with zee _drei_ of you here in my grasp]_, ZOLA announced, its digital face smirking. _[I vill be online in thirty-nine hours, and zen any hope you have of defeating me will be zero-zum. My prediction analysis iz flawless, Captain America. Your chances of stopping this… iz nil]_

_[Can I offer a different prediction theory for you, War Games? It's called a shell game]_

Bucky snorted at the new voice coming in from the rig that Dugan wore, his Life Model Decoy having connectivity to the _Gungnir_. Their resident teenage genius was about to have her druthers on the AI that had likely ordered the murder of both herself and her parents.

_[All team members? Lock and load for _Plan: Agent Smith_]_

And within the facility of the Office of Naval Intelligence, where hundreds of employees worked under the guise of HYDRA, hundreds of fabricated _Miss Marvel_ drones that had been shrunk and carried by ants thanks to the Pym Particle were embiggened and released to not only create hundreds of holographic images resembling the present Avengers, but also turning every facility member into their holographic facsimiles as well.

* * *

Author's Notes: Yes, you remember **Agent Smith** from the movie _Matrix: Reloaded_? When he showed up with like a dozen to fight Neo, and then ended up populating that courtyard with a hundred? That's what I'm going for; a False Flag Operation from hell.

I meant a few 'animal talkers' in fiction. Arthur Curry, better known as Aquaman, can talk sea creatures, but must be in/near water to do so. Of course, Harry Potter can talk to snakes (I seem to remember the talent had a name that the original Slytherin and Tom Riddle had, but can't recall it). And then I mention Dar the Beastmaster, which I believe was a comic book first before it became a movie. We don't mention the comic book movies from the Eighties. With the exception of _Superman_ with Christoper Reeves and Tim Burton's _Batman_, they all fucking sucked. Try Dolph Lundgrun as _The Punisher_, David Hasselhoff as _Nick Fury_, some bozo as _Captain America_, the _Red Sonya_ movie, _Howard the Duck_ (in the top ten worst movies of all time category, and no-bullshit fits into the implied-bestiality category), _Supergirl_, _The Toxic Avenger_ (technically that one's considered a cult classic, and you can see a very young Marisa Tomei in this!), _Swamp Thing_, _Flash Gordon_, _Masters of the Universe_ (He-Man with Dolph once again), and the 80's version of _The Spirit_ (which the new one sucked too). Somehow, the Seventies had iconic TV Superheroes like _Spider-Man_, _The Incredible Hulk_, _Wonder Woman, _and the true classic; the _Batman_ television show with Adam West and Burt Ward as the Dynamic Duo. POW! The _Incredible Hulk_ TV show spawned five seasons, I think five TV-movies, and two straight-to-VHS (God yes… I just said VHS :-p) movies.

While the holographic facsimiles fool the naked eye, ZOLA would know that something was different due to biometric data (which doesn't use light) and the fact that Stern would likely be in another location, seen by a random camera. ZOLA _wanted_ them to enter just so I could give you the Bond Villain Soliloquy while also explaining why Jenn Walters hit the top of HYDRA's shit list; the few things she stopped, and her plan to denuclearizing the world. It also gives me the chance to highlight that America wasn't the only country that HYDRA had infiltrated. It would make sense that if they had seeded SHIELD and the American Government, then all the major acronyms as well as places in England, France, Germany, and a few other nations would have a serpent problem as well.

I did try to go for that classical German Villain accent where the 'w's are 'v's and the 'th's are 'z's. VE VILL ASK ZEE QUESTIONS, HERE!

Since the release of the _Avengers_ game (and me subsequently dropping about forty hours into beating the main campaign), I was struck that the plot of the game was pretty damn similar to what I had well over a year ago for what would happen after ARC: WINTER IS COMING. I will incorporate some ideas, but won't spoil. Surprisingly, more than a few characters in the game were already brought in and fleshed out. So like with Kamala Khan ending up something similar to _Spider-Man: Far From Home's_ villain Mysterio (somehow, I ended up with Kamala doing the same thing that Quentin Beck was doing two weeks before the movie came out), you'll see similarities that I actually hit upon before the game came out.


End file.
